


Image of You

by angelic1_hp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelic1_hp/pseuds/angelic1_hp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The engagement party of Ron and Hermione is one that Ginny really didn't want to attend. Ginny has tried to lose herself in alcohol, sex and a relationship with a man she could never love until the one she really wants comes back into her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is migrated from my ff.net account. I have resisted the urge to edit, given that I started writing it over a decade ago (06-08), because it would likely be a hatchet job. So it's here in its entirety, A/N's of the time excluded.
> 
> It's one that I'm still happy to have completed, and years later I'm giving it a prettier home at AO3.

 

I can see her. So close.

God this is torture. Mind numbing torture.

Her hair flowing down her bare back.

His body close to hers.

Her eyes sparkling with happiness.

His chin nuzzled into her shoulder.

Their hands lazily playing with each others.

Christ, why did I agree to this stupid dinner? Engagement dinner to be precise. Their engagement of course; like fate would be merciful enough not to let that be the case.

I feel my eyes dull and gloss over as I go on external auto pilot. Nodding, smiling, laughing at the appropriate moments.

Pretend to be fascinated by their anecdotes of love and hilarity. Pretend to be touched when she describes how he proposed. Pretend to be happy for them. Pretend to care. Pretend not to die inside.

Block it all out. The feelings. The desire, the love, the hate, the need, the complete system meltdown whenever I smell her perfume. Block it all out and pretend to be normal. Pretend I don't want to reach out and touch her. Graze her arm softly and have her smile at me. Slide my hands around her waist and gently pulls her close. Inhale her scent. Inhale her until I go giddy and weak at the knees. Inhale her til I can't stand it any longer and kiss her. Softly, gently, carefully, tenderly. Stroke her hair and face to comfort her. Kiss her earlobe to excite her. Slide down her dress to tease her and-

"You alright?" Harry hisses into my ear. He gives me a dig to my ribs which snatches me out of the jaws of ecstasy within my fantasy. "Where have you gone?"

Nowhere I want anyone to follow.

"Nowhere. I'm right here," I whisper back, careful not to attract their attention. My darling brother is now regaling the group with the story of their first kiss.

Give me focus. Give me patience. Give me a stronger stomach, and a weaker heart.

"You just don't seem yourself."

I don't dignify this with a reply. How would the man I've woken up to every morning for the past 3 years know how "myself" I am?

Exactly.

Now they turn to us; Harry and I, the seemingly happy couple. The Boy Who Lived and the youngest of the Weasley clan. And we are; besides the fact I'm deliriously in love with someone.

Yes, delirious is a good word to describe it. Delirious from the pain of unrequited love. Making my head dizzy like a cigarette high.

Which makes me crave a hit. Right now.

"So Gin-" Ron starts, before I stand up, smiling and waving a hand.

"Sorry, bathroom. Back soon," I lie. Smoothing myself down as I pass faceless restaurant patrons, I exhale deeply. It's like I'd been holding that in all evening.

Rummaging through my purse as I nod to the Maitre D at the door, I find my pack and lighter neatly tucked inside. Tipping it up, my lighter slides past my grip and tumbles onto the stone pavement.

As I bend down to grab it, I hear a voice above me.

"How'd I know that I'd find you here?"

He slender, smooth legs are presented to my eyelevel. Holding my breath, my gaze travels up her body, perfectly clothed in a sundress which ends just above her knees. Travelling further up her hips, waist, chest then to her face. She smiles down at me.

She doesn't know.

"Hermione," I smile back, hastily getting off of the ground. I take a cigarette and light it.

"Old habits die hard?" She jokes, albeit lamely.

"They do indeed," I sigh, exhaling a cloud of smoke. I tip the pack towards her. "You want?"

"No thanks, you know what Ron's like with that."

"Yeah. It's a good thing I'm not marrying him."

She smiles bizarrely at me. "I've not seen you in ages."

"Been busy. The ministry don't let me out often."

Playing it cool. Playing it aloof. Playing it safe.

"You enjoying it there?" She asks, folding her arms as she feels a stiff breeze whip past.

"It'll do."

A silence falls as I try to suck in as much nicotine as possible.

"Gin..." She pauses. "Gin are you OK? You just seem really, I don't know, distant and I can't help think that something's on your mind. Is everything with you and Harry OK?"

"Yeah we're great," I nod, trying not to look at her. "Not quite at the matrimony stage like you and Ron but no, we're fine."

"I know Harry's away a lot, so if you get bored or lonely then we could go out. Or stay in. Just catch up. We've really fell out of touch."

_Guess you could say we fell out of touching, huh Hermione?_

"Yeah, I suppose that's what happens when you grow up," I say, shrugging. Stealing a glance at her, I see that she's staring down. "But yeah I'll definitely give you a call."

She looks back up at me and smiles. Our gaze is locked and that's what I was afraid of. There's no looking away from Hermione Grangers' eyes.

"Great. I'll look forward to it. I should get back," she announces. "You coming?"

"I'll be back in a minute," I tell her, gesturing to my half finished cigarette. She nods, smiles, turns and walks away from me. Again.

Angrily, I throw my butt on the ground and crush it viciously with my foot. This is what happens. After I see her I'm so wound up with frustration and desire than it mutates to rage. I can't stand to be around her. To be placid. To be platonic.

Inside I want to scream; a scream that would echo around the Muggle and Wizarding world. One which would cause empires to fall and children to cry.

On the outside I am normal. I push my hair back behind my ears, take a mint and walk back inside.

All of my unstable, potentially explosive feelings aren't entirely because I'm losing my grip. Part of it is her fault. The past is her fault.

Take a picture; it won't fade. Unlike Hermione and I's friendship which did. The picture is this: Hermione and I in Hogwarts. The closest of friends. Studied together, ate together, laughed together, cried together - even went on dates together. Summer before I went into 6th year Hermione stayed at the burrow, like Harry.

Being old enough, we'd go out into the nearest town or sometimes to London. Hermione showed me Muggle places and people and practises I didn't know existed. Anyway, one day she suggested we go into this place for something to eat since we would miss dinner at the burrow. As soon as we went in, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes hit us, followed shortly by a cloud of warmth. Even though we were under the Muggle allowed age for alcohol, we had no problems.

Hermione went up to the bar at first and came back armed with two cokes. Once I'd finished mine, she grinned.

"That taste different?"

"A bit. Why?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"Oh no, it was just a normal coke. With a splash of vodka," she laughed. I smelled the glass and looked up.

"You gonna get me another one then?"

That night we'd gotten completely intoxicated. At the time it was very strange and all very muggle. But now, it's as normal as putting milk in my cereal. We giggled all the way to the Burrow and then hid behind a tree while we attempted to sober ourselves up.

"Hermione, sshhhh! Ron and Harry will hear us," I hissed, pulling her down in a heap at the base of the tree.

"Not they won't," she waved. "But they'll hear THIS!" She bellowed. Immediately I clamped my hand over her mouth. She giggled behind my hand until I took it away. "You're my best friend Ginny, I love you!" She declared, throwing her arms around my neck. Pulling back slightly she placed her lips on mine for an innocent, friendly kiss. After pausing to look at me, she kissed me again, this time deeper. The passion of it and the sheer quantity of spirit I'd consumed threw me back on the ground.

I used to remember it much more clearly though now it just seemed like a drunken haze. I won't lie. When she kissed me, I didn't come alive. I didn't fall in love with her in that instant. It didn't stop my world.

The thought of it does now. But at the time it was a drunken girly snog that was fun and only happened because we were too drunk to care. It was a night for chances and for spontaneity.

After the fun we had that night experimenting with muggle substances, we used any opportunity to smuggle a bottle of vodka, rum,gin or on one occasion, whisky into Hogwarts. It wasn't easy to slip it past Filch. It required spells of a very difficult calibre, which Hermione mastered easily. We were learning, while breaking the rules.

I think that back then Hermione got such a rush out of it. Secretly, the Head Girl was sneaking in bottles, downing shots and snogging a girl. To the outside world she was infallible; perfect.

We never got caught either. Ron or Harry didn't know. The Room of Requirement became our party hall every month. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary we were doing, not compared to muggle teens our age. We would drink and dance and talk about everything. More often than not, it ended up in a drunken kiss all in the name of fun and letting loose.

But like all good things, according to the proverb, it came to an end. I remember the last time, right before our exams. I was late, as usual. Hermione had started drinking before me, as usual. The instant I had come through the door, I felt her body crashing into me and pushing me up against the wall. The alcohol on her breath was tangible, fusing with her strawberry lip gloss. My memory of her taste hasn't faded over time. Her lips crushing against mine, and her hand pushing up my shirt and finding it's way to my bra.

I remember gasping, mostly out of surprise. The kisses before hadn't exactly been innocent but they were grope-less. We joked about boundaries before, how we were pushing the boundaries between best friends and how half the boys in the school would kill to catch us in the act. Now here was Hermione obliterating the boundaries as her other hand was exploring my thigh under my skirt. I felt I should have stopped her then. I didn't know how much she had drank. If she woke up the morning and remembered it all then surely our friendship would be on shaky ground.

But I didn't stop her. I gave in. We passed out in the Room of Requirement entangled and soaked in spirit. Nothing more than that happened, although it seemed like a huge deal at the time. I suppose everything is a big deal when you're seventeen.

A few days after that night, I hear a rumour about Ron and Hermione going to the Leavers Dance together. Thought nothing of it. She wasn't exactly gonna take me, was she? It was no big deal, they were just friends. Like Hermione and I were. She had no obligation and neither did I.

Morning after the Leavers Dance it transpires that they're together. A couple. Parvati said they had been flirting for a month and had several moonlight encounters after lights out.

She had been straddling the fine line between Ron and I for a month. And I know that Hermione and I had nothing. It was drunk and stupid and placed firmly in the category of 'I can't remember what we did last night, how funny!' Still, I was her best friend. I knew nothing about it. No mention of Ron, of a new guy, of anything.

I'd like the record to show that I never started any of it. She always made the first move. She fucked me up and left me that way.

Which is why I can't stand to be around her now. I don't think Ron has a clue about it. He doesn't know that my tongue was in the very same ear he had been whispering sweet nothings into in Hogwarts.

And now they're engaged. And I'm with Harry.

The summer after Hogwarts I met him in Diagon Alley. He suggested dinner to catch up. Don't remember much about the meal except from the wine. I woke up the next morning in a room at the Leaky Cauldron with his arms around me and clothes strewn about the floor. We just kind of fell into a relationship. Fell into living together. He fell into loving me while I fell into denial of who and what I really want. I adore the man he's become, he's my best friend but I can't stop myself from hurting him.

Poor Harry, he deserves so much better than me, someone so much more faithful than me. Not only in thought but in deed.

Harry's job requires him to travel a lot. He's away for days, sometimes weeks at a time. I don't sit at home feeling sorry for myself. I usually grab a drink and head down to the Pink Lounge. I know the doorman so getting in isn't a problem on busy nights. In fact, they all know me. I'm notorious. Drink in hand, I go in search of a girl. Any girl, just so long as they have brown hair and brown eyes. Then wake up in the morning with another notch on my bedpost and no closer to happiness.

Harry comes back and he's none the wiser. I don't even bother to look for and hide any belongings the girls might have left. Removing the long brown hairs that clearly don't belong to me isn't an issue. I just don't care. A part of me hopes he catches me. Comes back early from and trip and finds me between some random womans legs. Undeniable proof; so I can't lie my way out of it. As much as I want that I know he doesn't deserve it.

Living among Muggles hasn't changed me. I like it. I like London. I like people not knowing who I am, which family I come from, if I'm pureblood or not. Being faceless makes it easier not to see people for what they are and them not to see me for who I am.

Back at the dinner, the never ending canned laughter and cutesy behaviour is giving me a headache.

"I'm leaving, I have a headache," I tell Harry while putting on my coat. "Stay if you want, I don't mind. I'll see you in the flat."

"You OK, Ginny? You've been really off all evening," he says, handing me my bag.

"Yeah. Like I said, headache," I try to smile. "I'll be fine-"

"Sis! Where you going?" Ron interrupts, putting his arm around me. "We've hardly had a chance to catch up. I never see you anymore. Stay. We've got some announcements."

"What, she's pregnant too?" I mutter under my breath.

"Hermione, come over here!" Ron beckons. "Our little Ginny's sneaking off into the night. You have to ask her before she goes."

I turn and see Hermione, almost in cheesily slow motion. Her lips spread into a smile as she reaches us.

"Leaving?" She asks.

"Yeah. Early start tomorrow," I lie, looking at my brother. "And a headache. It's best I just leave."

"OK, well since Harry's going to be Ron's Best Man, I thought it would be great if you would be my matron of honour. Would you, Gin?"

I catch my breath. Well, this caught me off guard. One thing I did not expect her to say. And there's no way in Hell I'm doing it.

"Wow, uh, that's a surprise. Honoured to be asked but I just don't think I'm the right person for the job," I say quickly. "Have a nice night and I guess I'll see you at the wedding." Even though I'm sure I'll be ill on that day and sadly unable to attend.

I leave quickly before any of them can say anything. Finding the exit through the masses of bodies and chairs isn't the easiest task at a moment like this.

Once outside I breathe deeply. Grabbing my cigarettes, I light one quickly and starting quick walking down the street.

"Ginny! Ginny!"

It's her. I can hear her catching up to me. There's no convenient taxi to escape into like the movies. So I stop and turn around.

"Ginny, what was that?" Hermione asks breathlessly. She looks completely puzzled, as if there's no reason that I would want to abstain from the position of matron of honour. "Why'd you turn it down and then run out of there like the place was on fire?"

"I understand Hermione," I hiss. "You're just engaged, your life is centring around your wedding in a weeks time. Sorry to say I don't feel the same. I don't care about your perfect dress, perfect place, perfect man design. So I'd go right back into the restaurant if I were you, cause I'm going home."

"Hey, what the hell did I do to deserve that?"

"Sorry Hermione," I say sarcastically through gritted teeth. "You want me to be happy for you? All right. I am. Ecstatic. Congratu-fucking-lations. Have a happy fucking life together."

I spin around and start stalking down the street. I hear her run after me. I feel her hand gripping my arm and spinning me back round.

"Gin, what the Hell has got into you? Did I make you mad at me for something? Is this about Ron?" Her voice has reached that high pitch whenever she hits incomprehension on her emotion meter.

"No, this has nothing to do with my  _brother_ ," I growl.

"Then what?" Her nails are digging further into my arm as I try to twist away.

"Like you give a shit."

"Jesus, Gin, what the-"

"No reason you can think of?"

"What?"

"No reason at all that I wouldn't be over the moon at this announcement?" I ask her, stepping closer, so close I can feel her hot, angry breath.

"I don't-"

"Nothing at all?"

"Christ, I don't want to play games." She says exasperated. "What are-"

I can't tell her. I can't simply explain. I have to show her.

I grab her arm with my free hand and kiss her, hard. Crashing together, then delving my hands into her hair. Once I realise she's not resisting - not only that, but she's kissing me back - I go softer. I cup her chin and plant soft kisses on her. I run my tongue gently along her bottom lip before giving it a playful tug with my teeth.

She smiles.

Now I know. I let her push the kiss deeper, tasting strawberry again. I never forgot.

Drawing back for a moment, I whisper against her lips:

"I knew you'd remember."

 


	2. Chapter 2

_I knew you'd remember_

 

A pause, a beat, time dragging on _forever_.

She steps back. She gasps. She puts her hand to her lips.

"Remember," she murmurs, shaking her head ever so slightly. "Ginny, I don't."

There it is. That white hot pain inside.

"You don't-"

"I'm sorry, I don't know what—" Hermione mumbles, backing away, grasping at words. She waves her hand dismissively and turns around to go back into the restaurant.

I'm lost. I'm shocked. I don't understand. I don't want to understand.

I know exactly where I'm heading.

The lights, the music, the women dancing closely together, the coldness of the beer bottle in my hand - its all second nature now. I watch them, the women. Two women in particular. They hold each other closely, swaying their hips together, their cheeks touching, gently stroking bare skin. I watch them fall into each other. Become one entity while dancing together, separation would be unthinkable in this moment.

It's all about the dance. They've just met, I can tell. Unsure of the boundaries, unsure of how to hold and be held. The concentration is palpable. Maybe they'll see each other again. Probably they won't. But it doesn't matter, it's all about the moment.

I tell all this to the woman standing next to me. I've never seen her in here before. She's fresh and excited. I'd guess at her first time out. She studies me with fascination.

I'm not even looking at her, I don't have to. I've done this so often. They all have the same look on their faces. The attraction to these beautiful observations I'm making, then the consideration to let down their defences. Then lastly, the slight contact they'll make with me. Touch my back, my arm, my hand. Using skin to let me know they're interested.

Hesitantly she grazes my arm with hers as she turns towards the barman to order another drink.

"Would you like one?" She asks, her voice wavering.

"Thanks," I smile, giving her eye contact that I know they never break away from. "I'll have a vodka and coke please, John."

"You know the bar staff?" She asks, tilting her head to the side. I nod. I find the less I say, the more it draws them in. The harder they work to make the connection, the more forward they'll be. So that at the end of the night, they'll feel like they got me. When I'd actually got them.

Really, I've done this a lot.

She starts telling me about her life. Her family, her coming out; basically all of the things I'm not a bit interested in. I glance over at the mirror to the side of the bar. I try to remember what I looked like in my 6th year. What was so different from then? I'm taller than my mother now, not inherited her plump, roundness: Tall and leggy with my red hair curling around my shoulders, my brown eyes glinting with curiosity...

This girl thinks I'm a catch, why doesn't _She_?

One thing Harry never managed was to master Occlumens. I find it useful in situations like this. Not that the muggle girl's mind will put up much of a fight. I can see exactly what she wants to do to me right now. Every little wicked desire that is parading through her brain, and the best part is that she's chastising herself for it.

I put a finger to her lips to silence her and smile.

"Would you like to dance?"

She nods as I take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

The music from that place is still thundering in my ears as the girl pushes me up against a wall outside. Her lips crash against mine and hands ravage my body. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine it's Hermione tickling my earlobe with her tongue, kissing my neck all the way down and undoing my buttons...

The silk sheets crush against my face. Hermione slips inside the girl again. Not the girl, never the girl. I can't allow myself release, I can't, I can't.

Refusing myself, I grin wickedly at my imagined lover hidden inside someone else's flesh. Hooking an arm underneath her thigh, I flip her on her back. She giggles.

No, Hermione giggles. Hermione gazes down at me with her soft hands tangled in my hair. I'm kissing a trail up her body to her full, perfect lips, savouring them. In my mind, strawberry lip gloss. I put her hand between her thighs and she bites my lip softly, taking in breath sharply. I grin and she grins back at me.

I move my lips to her ear.

"I'm going to push you so far off the edge you won't be able to move for hours," I growl softly.

When I look back at her face, Hermione isn't there anymore. Squeezing my eyes, I concentrate hard on her. Her deep brown eyes, her long eyelashes, her curved, full mouth. It's Her, It's Her, It's Her.

Too afraid to look again, I keep my eyes closed and bow my head while I hear the girl moaning progressively louder. It feels like forever, but I hold Her image in my head.

I know it's not Her, but I keep trying, I keep going.

The girl shudders and groans beneath me. I feel her close in around me and scream her last.

She collapses breathless and I roll over, not looking at the girl.

"My _god_ ," she gasps, trying to slow her breathing down. "I just-"

" _Silencio_ ," I say inside my head. My favourite charm for a situation like this. I put an arm over my eyes and nod frequently so she thinks I'm listening.

I can guess what she's saying. It's all the same.

And I haven't found what I'm looking for, again. It's just not there.

In the morning it's the same routine. Gather my clothes, attempt to redress then leave while they're asleep. It's easier. Also, I jinxed her so that she can never see me when I'm there. Helps avoid future situations.

I don't even bother to creep into the flat. Throwing myself onto the couch, I mutter ' _incendio'_ at the fire place and sigh loudly.

"Accio blanket," I yawn, flicking my wand swiftly at the cupboard. My favourite tartan blanket (which clashes horribly with my hair) flies over and settles itself over me. Before I can snuggle in, I hear a faint _Crack_ at the front door. Waiting for a moment, I shrug and close my eyes.

Only to have them open again to the sound of furious knocking.

"Merlin," I grumble, throwing the blanket off and stumbling over to the door. I throw it open.

Fuck.

Hermione.

She pushes past me, fidgeting with her hands and hair.

"Come in, why don't you?" I mutter.

"Ginny, where the Hell have you been?" She splutters. "Harry kept me awake all night. Well actually Hedwig kept me awake all night. He didn't know where you were or if you were all right or what was wrong or anything!"

She's pacing the floor, clearly furious.

"He had to go to Beauxbatons this morning for an urgent meeting that he absolutely couldn't miss but he's probably sitting in France worried to death!"

"What do you want? An apology?" I say snippily. Her face hardens.

"It's not me you owe an apology to! He thought something really serious had happened when you weren't back here! No call or owl or explanation or anything!"

"So did you tell him what happened out in the street? That would have explained it," I say casually, crossing my arms and leaning on the wall. "Or did that not happen either? Like most of your seventh year?"

"I..." Hermione opens and shuts her mouth. "Ginny that is not the point," she says quietly.

"Isn't it?" I ask airily, like I couldn't care less. I couldn't sound more wrong. The silence sticks in the air between us, becoming thick with anticipation and awkwardness.

"Ginny, I don't understand what-"

"Come on Hermione. Of course you remember," I snarl in disgust. "Will I refresh your memory? You - kissing me. Me kissing you. And all the while you're making puppy eyes at my brother. And you didn't even tell me!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up. "I mean really, if someone was interested in me or even wanted to go to a dance with me, you'd have been the first person I would have told. Seeing as it was my brother, all the more reason! Instead I hear about it from goddamn _Parvati_ of all people! I know this is all ancient history, but..." I've ran out of words.

Hermione looks down, I think there are tears. Shit I didn't mean to make you cry. Shit... No wait, why not? Why not cry over this, Hermione? I know I certainly have. It's time for you to spill tears. I'm done.

She looks back up with wide glassy eyes and her lip quivering.

I'm not done crying.

Sigh. Take a deep breath and hold. Hold your own. Don't break. Don't let her break you.

"What do you want me to tell you, Ginny?" She whimpers, wiping away tears with her sleeve. She holds out her arms and drops them like a rag doll.

"The truth," I force out, swallowing the acidic lump in my throat. I have waited so long and I don't even think I can handle it.

"Ginny..." She says, shaking her head wearily.

"I want the truth." My throat is so closed up I can barely form words. I can only keep it together a few more minutes.

"I remember," she mumbles, looking down. "Happy?"

Far from it. You should know that, Hermione.

"I remember us, all the times that we... Didn't forget that," she sniffs, still not looking at me.

"What about last night? Why did you kiss me back?" I don't even know where my voice is coming from.

"I don't..."

"And why didn't you tell me about Ron at the time?" Rage. Anger. Even hate. I hate you Hermione. Hate you. This is good. I feel strong. I'm not breaking, I'm not.

"For Gods sake Ginny, it was a long time ago!" Hermione dismisses, hugging her body.

"Fine then. I have nothing else to say to you if you won't even be honest with me."

I'm snapping. I march to the door and twist the handle.

"Ginny, don't be so dramatic," she hisses at me, straightening up. "Can't we just forget this, and-"

"Be friends? You've spent the last five years forgetting, Hermione," I say snidely, pulling the door open. "So have yourself a nice wedding and a nice marriage and go fu-"

"For Christ's sake, I was having feelings for you!" Hermione yells, a growl deep in her throat

"What?"

That voice didn't sound at all like me.

"I was having-feelings-for-you," she spells out. I can see the frustration rising in her and tears shaking free from her eyelashes.

Something in me just doesn't get it. Five years of playing it all over, of imagining a moment like this. And I never even entertained the thought of her. Having feelings. For me.

She sits down on the chair and rests her head on her knees. Can't even look at me.

"Feelings," I echo. I'm a little shell shocked here.

"Like I said, it was a long time ago," Hermione says into her knees, steadying her voice.

She sits up and wipes her eyes roughly.

"And I thought you maybe felt the same way," she says, shaking her head. "I didn't want to tell you about Ron because I didn't want to risk hurting you. And Ron... Well, he was one of my best friends. He told me he liked me when he asked me to the dance. I didn't immediately reciprocate his feelings, but I didn't shoot him down either. And we had such a great time at the dance... He was the You I could have in the daylight. Well, that's how it began anyway."

My mind is split. One half is running at a hundred miles an hour. The other is struggling to beat the turtle in the race. All the memories of that time come flooding back in techni-colour, as tangible as they have ever been. Then I'm struggling to understand her, exactly what she's saying and-

I'm heading for system melt down.

"You could have had _me_ in daylight!?" I blurt out. It's not the best response I could have mustered.

"Really, Ginny, could I?" Hermione says sarcastically, standing up. It takes me by surprise. "We were going to hold hands in the corridors, kiss by the lake and go to school dances together? Take you home to meet my parents, get married on the beach and have a family? We were going to be able to do all that? I think not. I was seventeen and confused and... and... hormonal!" She pauses to draw breath, shaking slightly. "It was a teenage phase, nothing more. And because of that, I'm with Ron. Which is who I'm meant to be with, and I'm happy."

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to break down. I'm not even going to argue with her. I just want her out of my sight, because I don't know how long I can hold.

"I'm happy, Ginny," she says again, I'm sure there are tears on her eyelashes. Her voice wavers slightly. "I'm _happy._ "

Covering my eyes, I nod furiously.

"I'm happy, Ginny," she whispers, her voice coming closer. Still I nod, balling my fists into my eyes. Not crying, not feeling, not letting this get me.

"I'm happy," she repeats. I hear her voice rasp in the back of her throat. I smell traces of her scent near to me. "And so are you. You're happy. You are."

"I'm happy," I mumble, letting the tears come. _I'm happy_. The first sob chokes me. _I'm happy._ I feel a noose tightening around my throat and I gasp for breath. _I'm happy._ My legs feel numb and I'm sure I'm going to fall.

But not before she catches me. Her arms slide hesitantly around my waist and she holds me tightly. I let myself go. Burying my face in her shoulder I cry and repeat the mantra until my head aches. I feel her fingernails through my shirt as she clings onto my back. The only thing keeping us up is holding on to each other.

Slowly, she pulls me back. Tears stain her cheeks and I'm sure they're not mine.

"I'm happy," I force out, trying my best to smile sarcastically.

"I'm not," she whispers, pushing my hair back, gently. She smiles sadly at me.

Then as she kisses me I feel the world fall apart.

-

_Hermione took a gulp from the bottle and handed it to me. I smiled. Her skirt was riding up around her thighs as she rolled back and forth, laughing. Hermione was such an uninhibited drunk, more so than other people. She laughed,_ _was affectionate, did things spontaneously... sometimes seemed like a different person. But she still was the same underneath. She just didn't have her conscience and guilt holding her back. Contrastingly, I was more sombre. More peaceful._

_"-And then you should have seen the look on Harry's face," she giggled. I stared. I took a big drink and shuddered as the vodka sank down. She stopped suddenly and sat up. "Hey. Do you still... y'know? Like him?"_

_Harry?_

_"Don't think so," I smiled at her._

_"Hey, what do you think the_ _boys would say if they caught us?" Hermione whispered, an edge of excitement in her voice._

_"Boys like this don't they? So Harry would be gob smacked and Ron... Ron would probably tell you to get off his sister. If he can't enjoy himself, then no one else bloody will."_

_She laughed heartily. Her eyes were shining._

_"Aw, Gin, what am I gonna do next year without you?"_

_I smiled at her again._

_"Leaving Hogwarts forever, in a weeks time. It's all surreal. You know?"_

_She noticed my eyes travelling down to her thigh. "You have a skirt thing," I told her. She stared at me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat._

_"Hm, I do," she laughed, pulled me to her and smashed our lips together hungrily. Her lips were coated in vodka. She pushed herself on top of me and traced her fingertips down my arm to grab my hand. She placed it on her thigh, under her skirt and gave me a little nip on the mouth for encouragement. I stroked it softly and slid up to under her sweater, found the bra strap and unhooked it._

_"Pushing the boundaries," I whispered in her ear, as I drew breath._

_"Still losing, Gin," she whispered and kissed me again. Her hunger for kissing me was breathtaking. I never realised I was so kissable._

_She made me feel that way. Kissable. Pretty._

_"Hermione," I gasped between kisses. "Do you think I'm pretty?"_

_She tried to hit my shoulder but missed. Instead, she curled my hair around her index finger. "How can you ask me that? Of course I think you're pretty. I think you're the prettiest," she added in a hushed voice. I curled myself into her body and yawned. We spooned and she kissed the top of my head. She whispered into my ear, "Do you think I'm pretty?" She wasn't giggling. Just asking._

_"Nope," I sighed. "I think you're beautiful."_

_"I think you're beautiful too," she said, kissing my cheek. "I really like this."_

_She pulled a blanket over us when she felt me shiver. Thank you Room of Requirement._

_"I like feeling freer than I have in my whole life. No ones expectations to meet. Not having to say or do the right thing. And I like that it's you I share this with."_

_I was struggling to stay awake. "Me too," I yawned and snuggling further into her body warmth._

_"I just had a thought. Once you get out of Hogwarts, let's live together. We can get a nice flat, decorate it. Get to hang out all the time like we do now. Minus Harry and Ron. I love them both but it's not the same as being with you. We can talk about... things."_

_"Sounds great," I said, trying to sound as pleased as I could without giving away how tired I was._

_"I was thinking about lots of things today, Ginny," she said, taking a deep breath. I want to hear. I really do want to hear. I'm just so tired. "Good things. Like you and I-"_

_I wish I had stayed awake, because that's all I heard._

 

I wish I had stayed awake.


	3. Chapter 3

_Then as she kisses me I feel the world fall apart._

 

I press my lips harder to hers. She sobs and clings onto my arms tightly.

"Don't stop," she mutters, unable to quell her own cries. "Please, God, Ginny, don't stop."

She shakes and bites and slides her hands into my hair. She is completely falling to pieces, like as I am. I feel that the world has gone somehow. I don't mean that everyone and everything has 'faded into the background' or something suitably Mills and Boons like that. I mean, literally, I cannot feel the ground underneath my feet or breathe the ever present oxygen.

Because all I breathe is her and the only reason I'm standing upright is her.

Her kisses become quicker, more furious; As if I have pissed her off in some great, untold way. And this is my punishment.

Her cheeks are hot against my palms. Her nails scratch against my back, clawing at my flesh.

I can't keep going like this, I'll surely die. She seems to have no need for oxygen as she kisses me relentlessly.

Her lips trail to my throat, hot and wet. My head tips back, a loud moan issued from within. Any second now, I will lose what little semblance of control I have left.

But I hear that soft creak over Hermione's shoulder; The gentle noise of the hour hand on a grandfather clock easing itself along an inch.

_The clock!_

Opening my eyes widely, I look frantically towards the clock that my mother got Harry and I for as a flat warming present. Unlike my family clock, this one only has two hands on it; Myself and Harry.

And Harry's is pointing towards travelling.

"He'll be here any second," I utter, dazed. The countless times I have cheated on my untidy haired boyfriend in our very own flat - never once have I panicked.

The last place I want him to find me is at the mercy of Hermione Granger.

"Who will?" Hermione asks breathily, momentarily detaching her lips from my skin.

"Harry. He's coming home."

-

" _I just dunno what to do anymore, Ron," Harry sighed as he pushed his hands into his pockets. He looked out of the window of Hermione and Ron's house. They were far from London, as Ron preferred the peace and quiet as opposed to the obnoxious bustle of the city._

" _Have you talked to her about it?" Ron asked, chewing his thumbnail._

" _C'mon Ron, have you ever tried to talk to your sister about what's going on in her head?" Harry asked, half amused, half exasperated._

" _Well. No. But she's my sister. She's rubbish like that, I suppose," he shrugged, sitting back. "Look it's probably nothing."_

" _I don't think it is, Ron. You saw the way she was acting at your engagement party last night."_

" _Yeah. But. She… she had a headache," Ron pointed out._

" _A headache," Harry scoffed. "She's had so many headaches lately, you'd think she has a brain tumour or something."_

" _What? What's a Two-Mar?"_

_Harry froze, a slow dread filling his stomach. "You don't think she's ill, do you?"_

" _No way," Ron dismissed as he waved away Harry's concerns. "She's an idiot. But not that much of an idiot, believe me."_

" _Yeah. Maybe," Harry said thoughtfully. "I think it might have something to do with Hermione, though. Did you see how short she was with Hermione last night? And they don't speak anymore. Has she said anything?"_

" _Hermione? No," Ron shook his head. "I didn't think that. I mean, Hermione's over there right now to see if she's all right. She was dead worried about her after your Owls last night. Didn't sleep. If there's a problem, it must be Ginny. But I think you're on the wrong track there, mate."_

" _Yeah. Maybe," Harry nodded slowly as he looked to the clock. "I suppose I better get back if she's there. Try and talk to her."_

" _Yeah, good luck with that," Ron chuckled._

_-_

And she's gone. Disapparated as soon as she looked at the clock. Clearly she didn't want Harry to find her here either.

Harry.

His keys in the door, him uttering my name with relief and his arms crushing me to his chest.

"I was so worried," he whispers into my hair and sighs.

I push away from him, muttering, "You shouldn't have bothered. I'm clearly fine."

He pauses, and looks about our living room. "Is Hermione here?"

"What?" I gape. He cannot know…

"Hermione. I went by Ron's first, and he said that Hermione had come over to see you."

"Oh. She left."

"Must've just missed her," Harry shrugs, taking off his coat. "Did she—Did she mention being bridesmaid again, perhaps?"

He's scrutinising my every reaction, waiting for the ball to drop.

"No. Funnily enough she didn't," I tell him carefully.

"Are you going to do it?"

"Already told them no last night," I remind him haughtily, wandering through to the kitchen under the pretence of making tea but really wanting to escape being studied as if I've lived my whole life in a Petri dish.

"Why, Ginny?" he calls through. I brace myself on the worktop, hoping he'll just take the silence as an answer. "Ginny?"

Obviously not. "Because I don't want to."

"Why wouldn't you want to? It's _your_ brother. _Our_ closest friends," he stresses, appearing at the kitchen door, leaning on the frame.

"Because Hermione will most likely make the bridesmaids wear pink. And you know how that clashes horribly with my hair," I smirk and roll my eyes at him. He is not amused. "There'll be some other girl she's friends with. At St. Mungo's, or something."

"Seriously, Ginny. What's going on?" he sighs wearily.

"With Hermione?"

"With Hermione and you. With you and I. Honestly Ginny, I don't know where you are anymore." He pauses, staring imploringly at me.

"I'm here," I sniff, looking away.

"Yeah? Well I don't see it," he mutters bitterly, pushing off the doorframe and stalking off.

-

_Hermione brought out a tea tray laden with a pot, cups and many assorted biscuits. She set it on the coffee table in front of her soon to be mother-in-law and fiancé. As she poured a cup for Molly Weasley, she was struck by the odd symmetry of it all. Years ago, it had been Molly, matriarch of Weasley clan and lover of strays and muggle born who had brought her cups of tea._

_Though it had always been known that the Weasley's didn't have much money, never once did the red haired mother think about this when inviting Harry or Hermione to spend weeks at a time with them at Summer and Christmas. She opened the door to them and enveloped them in the same love and comfort that she gave her family._

_And now Hermione would be a proper part of that family. And she was playing host in much the same way that Molly had; setting cups of tea and plates of toast in front of them for supper before bedtime._

" _What do you think, dear?" Molly asked Hermione, bringing her out of her thoughts._

" _Sorry, about what?" Hermione grimaced._

" _Bridesmaids dresses, dear," Molly smiled kindly, knowing how preoccupied Hermione must be. Hermione thanked the Heavens that her future Mother-in-Law could not tell_ why _she was so consumed by her own thoughts._

" _Um.. I hadn't actually thought to be honest," Hermione sighed, sitting down next to Ron. He took her hand and held it between both of his. An immediate reaction of his whenever she was near. Hermione could see Molly eyeing this small display of affection from her son and struggling not to clasp a hand over her heart at the joy of it all._

" _Well, it can't be pink can it?" Molly said regretfully, scribbling down on her parchment. "Unfortunate side effect of marrying a Weasley. That colour is really off limits during any kind of celebration or event. In particular, Ginny looks rather—"_

" _Crap," Ron filled in helpfully. He was already quite bored of the wedding planning and it had hardly been an hour._

" _Ronald," Molly said sternly. "It just doesn't go well with her. Blue's a much more suitable colour. Or perhaps green, though you wouldn't think it…"_

" _It doesn't matter, Molly," Hermione sighed, pushing her hair back. "Ginny's not going to be our bridesmaid." Just saying her name aloud gave Hermione a white hot stab of pleasure/pain. The memories of yesterday came back to haunt her in technicolour._

' _Focus, Hermione, Dammit,' she scolded herself. 'Do not think of Ron's sister when you're here with their mother!'_

_The reality check of how incredibly awful this situation was helped Hermione to focus straight away._

" _Why wouldn't Ginny do it?" Molly asked puzzled. She turned and looked accusingly at Ron._

" _Don't look at me, mum!" he protested. "Nothing to do with me! Maybe she's upset that Harry hasn't proposed to her yet and she's jealous. Blame Harry."_

" _Don't be so ridiculous, Ron," Hermione bit scathingly. She was surprised at how violent her reaction had been, and quickly cleared her throat. "I'm sure that's not why."_

" _Whatever. It's her own issues or whatever. Harry doesn't know what's going on with her," Ron shrugged._

" _Is he worried?" Hermione asked tentatively, trying to scope out the situation._

" _Well. Yeah. He thinks it's your fault, actually," Ron informed her, grinning. "Told him not to be stupid."_

" _Why would it be my fault?" Hermione asked, flustered. She felt Molly Weasley's attention on her._

" _Have you two had a fight? You and Ginny?" she asked gently. "I thought you two just drifted apart years ago, but—"_

" _Nothing's wrong with Ginny and I," Hermione told them both. "I have not done anything. Neither has she. We are fine. And I think blue would be best. Just.. Just in case she changes her mind."_

_Molly nodded silently as she wrote this down on her parchment._

_Hermione sighed and looked out at the beautiful day. Outside there were trees and animals and a small stream at the bottom of their garden. Ron had craved a home for them that would be similar to where he grew up._

_It was peaceful, and quite beautiful. They could watch the sun rise and set over the hills and go about their lives unbothered._

_Sometimes, Hermione missed the busy-ness of the city. Of frantic people rushing about their daily routines. The feeling that if you stopped to draw breath you would almost miss something terribly important. She thought about cobbled streets littered with streetlights. She remembered furious eyes and soft lips. She heard her own desperate words in her ears: '_ Please, God, Ginny, don't stop.' _As she thought about this, Hermione could not help but smell nicotine and alcohol in the air. A smell she knew well on someone, somewhere far from here._

" _This is what you gave up your little 'dalliance' with me for?" she heard Ginny whisper in her ear. "The chance to discuss dress colour with my mother while Ron snarks at your side? Yeah, I can really understand why you'd prefer this," it scoffed._

_Hermione willed the voice from her head, but she could not focus on the other two Weasley's sitting in the same room as her._

_Instead, she excused herself and hurried to the bathroom as she felt a rising panic._

_She locked the door and slouched down beside the toilet, feeling that she may retch. Something was building inside her, an awful pressure that made her feel physically ill. Something which made her want to grab the first portkey out of her own home._

_She wanted to cry but cannot force tears from her. She knows it will make her feel better. Some sort of relief. Vomit, tears, a scream: something to make her feel_ normal.

_But none of it came._

_Instead, she closed her eyes, thought of those cobbled streets and with a soft_ pop _she was gone._


	4. Chapter 4

_The glare of the streetlights pierced through her eyelids and Hermione knew that she wasn't in her bathroom any longer._

_With a sigh, she saw that she had made it to her destination. Part of her wished that she would have taken a wrong turn somewhere, so to speak, and ended up in another cobbled street far away from here._

_As she looked up, she noticed the light was still on in the living room of the small flat that Harry and Ginny shared. It seemed like months ago that she had last been there, but yet it was only this morning. It must have been months ago she'd Disapparated without warning to escape being seen by Harry. But it was barely hours._

_But why? If Harry had seen her there, he would think she'd come to check on Ginny. Absolutely nothing more would have occurred to him. But considering the condition of the pair who had sobbed and yelled and kissed only moments earlier; surely he would have noticed_ _**something?** _

' _No,' Hermione told herself. 'No he wouldn't of. Because it's the last thing Harry expects. It's the last thing everyone expects. And why should they? Ginny is with Harry. And I'm marrying Ron. I'm marrying Ron and I'm ha—'_

_She stopped her mantra midway as she felt a wrenching pain inside. She could not even bear to lie to herself anymore. What hope was there of convincing everyone else?_

_But she would. Because that's what everyone expects. That's what everyone wants._

_Feeling utterly terrible that she'd ever considered Apparating here in the first place, Hermione prepared to return home. However, the noise of the tiny window scraping upwards in its frame stopped her immediately. Hermione's heart pounded frantically as she remained stiff, as if Petrified, waiting to see who it was._

_Straining, she could not see the face of the silhouette. But a few seconds later, wisps of smoke floated from the window and Hermione felt herself soar. A few windows over light illuminated what Hermione knew to be their bedroom. Harry was home._

_A thick quicksand drowned her insides and any momentarily forgotten feelings of guilt or confusion quickly returned to their rightful owner._

_It would take a person with a considerably less heavy conscience than Hermione Granger to knock on their front door knowing her oblivious childhood best friend was home._

_She rifled through her pockets hoping to find a spare piece of parchment. As she pulled a small, folded square out of her back pocket, she knew what it was. It wasn't exactly blank. It was a provisional guest list that Molly had suggested she and Ron look over. Hermione had placed it in her pocket as she went to fetch the tea._

_Feeling even more wretched, she tore off the top piece without looking at it and replaced it in her back pocket. As she pulled out the Inkless Quill she kept on her at all times, she tried not to feel too thankfully that Molly had left them considerable space to add their own suggestions and amendments._

_Trying to put that thought out of her mind, she pressed the sharp end to the parchment and wrote the words that wanted to fall from her lips._

_-_

It's been such a quiet night.

The past few hours, Harry and I have barely spoken to each other. Which - when you live together in such 'cosy' quarters - is very obvious and extremely uncomfortable.

He's in the bedroom which is usually his domain when we fight. He holes up in there because he knows I'll prefer to chain smoke out of the living room window. He's pretending that he's 'very busy' with a 'very important piece of Quidditch legislation' to draft for the morning. He's doing his very best Percy 'Stick up my arse' Weasley impression.

I know he enjoys it though. It was actually me who suggested he look for a Quidditch related job. When we met again in Diagon Alley he was training to be an Auror. What he always wanted to do and what everyone expected him to do when he left. Kingsley Shacklebolt was his personal mentor, I remember.

I remember lying with him the morning after, upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron and watching his face as he described what he was learning and all the amazing things he was seeing. He was listing them with all the excitement of telling me what he ate for dinner last week.

And I asked him the question that apparently no one else had thought to ask him – "Are you _actually_ enjoying it or it is just because that's what everyone expects of you?"

He smiled at me, shyly, as if I'd just figured out his biggest secret. He reached over and gave my hand a tight, grateful squeeze.

"It's OK."

" _Just_ OK?"

"Yeah… I think I don't want to be that boy anymore."

"You're not a boy at all."

"Well I'm the man who is The Boy Who Lived."

"Or the man who is The Boy With The Daft Scar On His Head."

He grinned and wrapped me up in his arms, pressing his mouth to my ear. It was this moment I thought I could maybe have something with Harry again. Wipe the slate clean of Hermione and just go back to being that girl who was saved from the Basilisk by that brave, young boy.

"If I could, I'd go do something with Quidditch. Y'know, not play professionally or anything—"

"Why not? You're good enough."

"I don't think so... I wouldn't want to anyway. Perhaps something a bit more meaningful. Like, get involved in the Quidditch league… or something."

"That's a great idea, Harry."

"Yeah. But I've only got two years to go until I'm an Auror and—"

"And what? You wanted to be an Auror when you were fourteen. That's a long time ago. A lot's happened. You've changed. And you're going to stick with that because you've _started already_?"

"Well. No. But—"

"Would it make you happy?"

"Well, maybe."

"Maybe? Harry, honestly, do something that'll make you happy. We all know life's too short not to go after what you want."

At this point. Exactly. Hermione flitted into my head again. I forced her out. _I wasn't going to be that girl anymore._

"Yeah. It is. I think I've done my fair share of Dark Wizard stuff."

"Yeah. So why don't you go talk to someone at the Magical Games and Sports department? Bet they'd be glad to have lured Harry Potter over to their side."

"Shut up." He rolled back, laughing to himself.

"I'm serious, Harry. If it's what you want to do, then do it. Don't be an Auror cause that's what everyone wants you to be. It's _your_ life. Make _your_ choice."

"Maybe."

"Besides, if you don't do it, I'll do it for you."

It wasn't until a month later that he actually did something about it. It disappointed Kingsley and the other Aurors; well just about everybody who was going to feel even safer that the Chosen One would be more skilled and better equipped than ever before to protect them from what may come.

He's climbed steadily in the Department since he started and mostly loving every minute. Right now he's head of a committee pioneering a new inter-school Quidditch Championship, which is a fantastic idea (and his, I could add); promoting inter-house unity and having the school united as one to support Hogwarts, as opposed to Gryffindor or Slytherin.

So he's been busy. And I understand.

And to be honest, sometimes I don't even care when he's not there.

But this, tonight, is irritating the high hell out of me. His Percy impersonation doesn't wash with me.

I know he's still pissed I won't wear a daft pastel dress, wear flowers in my hair and walk down Hermione's aisle.

I can see it from his perspective. I can. I'm not an idiot. I know it seems completely illogical to him. They're his best friends, Ron's my brother and Hermione and I got along 'so well' in Hogwarts. What possible reason would there be for me _not_ wanting to participate in this joyous occasion? There would be no other obvious choice for bridesmaid than me.

I think that's why she asked me. She wasn't cold or thoughtless. She just knew that no one else would do in my family's mind.

Then why did she chase after me if she'd guessed my answer?

Did she ask me to hurt me? Did she want to see me walk down the aisle before her and watch her marry my brother?

And why did she kiss me this morning? Why did she tell me not to stop? Why did she tell me she had feelings for me? Was that all designed to hurt me? To have a final fling before she marries the sibling one year my senior? But I felt it. In her breath and body, I felt that she wanted—needed—me. I know it. Why—

-And here I am again. My regular state of Hermione-induced insanity.

Why do I do this to myself? The atmosphere with Harry tonight has been horrible, but at least I'm rational. And calm. But when I think of her I pull myself to pieces, thread by thread.

_Why does she have the power to make me so completely lose myself?_

I think this a lot. Why her? Why Hermione? Couldn't it have been someone else? How easy it would be if it was anyone else on the planet. I imagine dating Gellert Grindelwald would be easier than Hermione Granger.

It's not all because of this hideous situation. She's ridiculously difficult on so many levels. She's stubborn and bossy and righteous and a bloody perfectionist. She's hyper aware of everyone else's feelings and situations but so ignorant to her own. I would rather scream and shout about what's bothering me; she'll cover it up with pleasant smile if she can't reason it out. I don't just mean 'us' – if there ever was an 'us'. Take Divination as a prime example. She couldn't use logic or knowledge or common sense so she just dropped it. Just walked away…

And I hate that all these faults just endear her more to me.

When she digs her heels in, I find it adorable how hard she'll fight. Even if I'm the one she's fighting against. When she's bossy and tells me off using my full name, I can't help but melt. When she's righteous, lending her considerable intellect and obsession to a cause I can't help but admire her more. When she won't rest until her current task is completed to perfection it's horribly engaging to watch but then when it's finished to her satisfaction, she smiles. And that's all that's needed.

I adore that she's so in tune with everyone else's frequency; able to tell when someone is upset or happy or scared. And she'll try to help the best way she can.

But when she chooses to focus on everyone else at the expense of bottling her own problems, feelings or issues…

I hate that.

Merlin, do I hate that.

If I could hate Hermione Granger my life would be a lot easier.

As I slam down the window to shut it, I see an odd blaze of white out of the corner of my eye. It flies into the window pane and drops.

Turning back around quickly, I see the flash of white rising up to the window again. It leans forward and taps on the glass gently.

It's a bird. Crafted from paper and brought to life through magic. I thought there weren't any witches or wizards nearby. We're deep in muggle London, miles from the Leaky Cauldron, St Mungos or the MoM.

Who is floating paper birds up to my window? Harry, perhaps?

No, he would never do this.

Cautiously, I open the window and let the paper soul flutter in and onto my knees.

Stroking a finger along its makeshift wings, I feel a sharp shock of magic from the person who sent this.

Perhaps I'm getting confused as to who I _want_ to have sent this.

As it comes to rest, nuzzling in my lap, it reverts to a simple piece of parchment which unfolds in front of my eyes.

I pick it up, annoyed that my hands are visibly trembling because I recognise the curling handwriting of the woman who sent this.

_If this is the way it's supposed to be then why I do I feel like this?_


	5. Chapter 5

It doesn't take me long to make my decision once I receive her note. _Accio-_ ing my shoes and jacket from the closet, I grab my keys and run out the door. With barely a thought for Harry.

Tearing out of the front door onto the street, I see her waiting there. She's sitting on the pavement, her head in her hands and face buried in her knees.

The door swinging shut behind me alerts her to another's presence on the street.

She half smiles up at me, face blanched and slowly gets to her feet.

I don't know what I expected, bolting down here like a Hippogriff on fire. Did I expect her to see me, run and jump into my arms and smother my face with kisses?

Perhaps not. Doesn't mean it didn't flash into my mind in that minute it took to regain control of my limbs and leave my flat.

She takes a few timid steps towards me, as I do her. And slowly, surely, we meet in the middle of the road.

"Hi," she whispers, her eyes looking a bit damp.

"I got your note," I blurt out.

"Thought so," she mumbles, pushing her hair out of her eyes. I catch her hand as it returns to her side and give it a gentle squeeze.

"You want to… Go get a drink?" I ask, half laughing.

She just nods, smiling a bit more and discreetly trying to dab her eyes.

"Where? I mean, it's best it's no where…"

"Magical?" I fill in, starting to lead the way.

"Not _not_ magical," she corrects, trying not to appear flustered. "Just not somewhere busy. Like the Leaky. I mean, I'm not against magical. I could do with some Firewhisky."

"So could I," I concur. "Hold tightly."

She grasps both of my hands in hers and we Disapparate.

-

_As he heard the faint 'crack', Harry got up from the papers covering him and the bed and raced to the window. He knew he would be too late to see Ginny leave, but a part of him had to make sure._

_He screwed up the parchment that was in his hand and pressed his hands to his head._

_There she was. Running off again. Something was very wrong and she just wouldn't talk to him…_

_Was it him? Was he the reason?_

_Perhaps seeing Hermione and Ron get married was the problem. Perhaps she always thought they'd be the first to the altar?_

_Was that what she wanted? Why she was so distant with him since the announcement and so horrible to Hermione?_

_He wrung his hands together, completely confused._

_She wouldn't talk. She was never one for talk. She would only respond to action._

_Harry knew what he must do._

_-_

"Hogsmeade?" Hermione asks softly beside me, quickly letting go of my hand. She looks around at the familiar surroundings and her face darkens. The rain is pouring down from above, clearly signalling that we have arrived in Scotland.

"I thought the Hog's Head. It's quiet… And you haven't seen it since Aberforth did it up," I say weakly, making a futile attempt to cover my head from the shower.

"S-Sure. The Hog's Head," she nods and starts off in that direction, leaving me behind.

I just thought that if we could get out of London, out of our 'Adult World' and back to a time where everything was more innocent. And we were happy. Perhaps then it might be easier.

From the look on her face and the pace at which she's storming away, I couldn't have been more wrong.

"Hermione! Hermione!" I call, running to her side. "If this isn't OK, then we can go somewhere else."

"No. I'm sure this'll be fine," she sniffs, pushing open the door to the Hog's Head pub. Used to be that the musty, dirty smell overwhelms you as soon as you open the door and several dodgy looking, cloaked characters turn to face you.

But not now. As soon as you step inside, an instant drying charm washes over you that Aberforth has thoughtfully set up for weather such as this. It's warm and glowing, the floor plan littered with overstuffed comfort chairs with floating tables at the side of each one. A fire crackles in the far corner and the walls are adorned with paintings of some of the most beautiful sights in modern Britain. Chatting with Aberforth one night, I was surprised to learn they were his very own work. After making peace with himself, his brother and his family, he shut the Hog's Head for a year to travel. When he returned, he gutted the pub out and made it into the bar he'd always wanted it to be.

The landscapes live and breathe just as Wizarding portraits do. It's quite calming to look at a trickling stream or faintly blowing forests while you enjoy a quiet drink.

Hermione makes a beeline for one of the many dark corners that still exist in the pub – Aberforth knew the reason a lot of people liked his establishment was for the privacy it could allow.

"Ginerva," he greets me gruffly from behind the bar. "What can I get you?"

"Two Oak Mead and two Firewhisky, Aberforth," I ask, pulling out my purse.

"Put that away," he says, setting two glasses on the bar top and filling them to the brim with the potent drink. He uncorks two bottles and places them side by side. "You've sent a lot of business my way lately. A lot of your education big wigs at the Ministry been by here 'stead of the Three Broomsticks. And one of them offered to buy one of my paintings."

"That's great. How much you sell it for?" I ask, pulling out my wand to float the drinks to the table.

"Didn't. They're not for sale. They're just for me. Nice to get the offer all the same," he smiles behind his long beard.

"Just leaves them wanting more," I wink. "Any day now you'll have all of the Wizarding art world banging on your door."

"Don't know about that," he grins, clearing his throat.

I glance over at Hermione, sitting there, fidgeting, and inspecting her environment to check that the cleanliness is indeed not an illusion.

"Better get back to your girl," he nods knowingly.

It was here I came after Hermione and my brother went to the dance together. After they got together I could be found sneaking out of Hogwarts through the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack and round the corner to the first bar I came to.

At first, he just allowed me to sit, nursing a Butterbeer and staring into space. He could've reported me, but didn't. I was grateful for that.

After the holidays, during my seventh year, I still came back here. I began to talk to him about what was going on and I think he enjoyed the company. And he listened and understood. Being a barman, he must get a lot of people gushing on his shoulder.

But he never complained, or told me to get over it or to stop being stupid. He just let me sit and talk. And occasionally had a Firewhisky with me.

Eventually, he began to talk to me, after hours, about his life. And what he wanted. He told me he dreamed of going away by himself for a while. Just seeing places of tranquil beauty.

I told him all I wanted was to escape into a place with a million faces so I could hide amongst the crowd.

He just laughed, patted my hand and murmured, " _Youth runs into anonymity. Age wanders into isolation."_

It's quite true.

"Well. You don't want to keep her waiting," he gently urges me.

The drinks bob along in front of me as I take a deep breath and ready myself for whatever may happen. They ring together, settling down on the table and awakening Hermione from her daydream.

"Thanks," she says softly, hastily picking up the shot glass and throwing it down her throat.

Clearly she hasn't lost her stomach for alcohol. Or she might just need it.

"So. How do you feel?"

Obviously I'm just letting whatever words come into my head fall out my mouth. Stupid, stupid Ginny.

She looks up at me, her eyes slightly red from the Firewhiskey and coughs. "Mostly a little burning sensation."

I begin to giggle, and soon she's laughing with me and pushing my Firewhiskey towards me as she takes a gulp of the Mead.

I bring the glass to my lips, tipping the liquid slowly into my mouth as she blurts abruptly, "I can't stop thinking about you kissing me."

This confession, of course, catches me completely off guard and I choke on the shot. Rather violently. She rushes out of her chair and rubs my back firmly as I cough and splutter.

"Sorry," she mutters, shaking her head as my eyes tear.

"Don't be sorry," I wheeze, covering my mouth with my hand.

Slowly she withdraws, moving from my side and sits back down in her chair. The absence of her hand on my back is tingling and my eyes are still watering

"I want to be," she says quietly, taking another swig. "I want to be sorry about it. But I don't think I can. And it makes me feel even worse."

"Sorry about choking me or sorry about—" I venture, my voice returning to normal.

"Sorry about you. And I," Hermione murmurs softly. "Sorry about you kissing me in the street. Sorry about me kissing you in your flat. I want to regret it."

"But you don't?"

PleasePleasePlease.

She shakes her head slowly and sighs. She leans back in her chair, staring at the painting of a quiet glen above our table. My heart is beating ever faster and I'm leaning so far forward, I could fall off my chair if I'd had anymore to drink.

"I don't know how I'm to go on like this. And I don't know what's happening to me. And I don't know how to make it stop…" she trails off, still not looking at me. Her eyes glaze over, looking uncontrollably sad. "I don't know what to say to you…"

-

_I know what I want to say to you. I want to say that kissing you was the only time I feel I've been kissed in the past few years – Since Hogwarts, obviously. Since leaving you and our Room of Requirement. Since feeling your lips on mine and your skin against me. And feeling you breathe as you sleep and giggle softly at my drunken ineptitude._

_I can't take any of it back – Ron. The Dance. The engagement. I want to take that all back. But I can't._

_I wish I could tell you how I feel. But I can't. Because I don't even know._

_No. That is a lie. I can't—won't let myself feel whatever it is that's rising inside of me. And the harder I try to smother this violent rebellion growing inside of me, all that's left is feeling torn to pieces and wretched as Hell. Every time I try to fight, it grows stronger._

_It was so much easier when I was younger. I could feel the way I did without guilt because no one would ever know. I could have this secret affair in my own mind that would be partially acted out whenever I spent a Saturday night with you and liquor. The giddy rush, the thrill of it all: It was supposed to be childish play. I wasn't going to let it go farther than it had. It was my guilty secret to enjoy._

_And one morning I woke up. The last time we were together like that. I remembered exactly what I had said to you as you slept that night. You fell asleep. My saving grace was that you had not heard it, so it didn't have to be real._

_But it was. Very real and very honest. I'd let myself wander so far past the boundaries and slip so far out of my own control._

_You never heard, and you never would. That made it easier to tie a tourniquet above the bleeding wound and sever all connections._

_This worked. Ron and I worked. I could function again. But then you kissed me and the furious blood rushed back into me like it had never left._

_I want to tell you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you the way I did after you fell asleep so many times in Hogwarts. I held you like a lover, I entwined my legs with yours and I listened to your wonderful heartbeat like it was the best music I'd ever heard._

_I want to. I don't think I can, but I want to—_

_-_

"Ginny," she starts, as if awakening from a dream. She sucks in a deep breath and locks her gaze onto mine.

"Ginny!"

Another voice, somewhere. I don't really care. I just edge closer to Hermione, hoping she'll continue. But she's looking around, horrified that someone has identified us.

"Ginny!" the voice calls again. Female. Familiar.

I turn around and see Katie Bell coming towards me, Alicia Spinnet in her wake. She waves and smiles brightly, clutching cool bottles of beer.

"I thought that was you!" she grins, pulling up a chair for her and Alicia. "Are you here for the Gryffindor – Ravenclaw match?"

Of course. I forgot. End of May.

"Hermione Granger, how are you?" she asks upon recognising who I'm sitting with. "I hear you and Ron are going for it."

Hermione just nods and smiles weakly.

"When's the Big Day, then?" Katie asks excitedly, pulling her chair closer to Hermione's.

Hermione glances at me, looking a little stricken and racked with guilt. As quickly as she turned my way, she turns away. She plasters on a fake smile and continues to discuss her upcoming nuptials with Katie.

Leaning back, I don't notice Alicia beside me until she's quite close. "Are you OK?"

I sit forward suddenly, almost spilling my Mead and knocking heads with the older girl. "Of course I'm OK. Why would you ask that?"

She tilts her head and looks sympathetically at me. Words cannot describe how uncomfortable that look makes me.

"I think it's pretty obvious, don't you?" she asks softly, glancing at Hermione.

"I don't know what—"

"Hate to break it to you, Ginny but you're a bit more transparent than you think you are," she murmurs, her head down.

To our left, Katie Bell is still chattering away about weddings and how perfect Ron and Hermione are; to which I flash an expression of solid disgust. Only for a moment.

"That. There," Alicia points out triumphantly. "Like I said, you're hardly stellar at hiding your emotions."

"Well. Like I said," I start haughtily. "I don't know what—"

"Hermione Granger," she breaks in quietly. So quietly that the other two cannot hear.

I open and close my mouth, trying to produce something resembling at complete and utter denial of whatever she's insinuating.

"I know how you feel," Alicia whispers. "I know you've been in love with her ever since school."

"In love—I-School—I don't know what—"

"C'mon, Ginny," Alicia grins. "I didn't know you that well and even I knew. Suppose that's helped by the gaydar."

"You?" I ask in a small voice.

She just shrugs good-naturedly and takes a drink. "It's not easy being in Hogwarts, feeling the way you do about someone you see every day and night. It's especially not easy when they're the same sex as you. You just don't get that many Out and Proud kids in our school."

"I suppose not," I reply, still a bit shocked.

"It does get easier, though, doesn't it? I suppose not for you if the woman you want is getting married to your brother," she says almost casually, trying to make me smile.

"I suppose not," I laugh quietly. After so long – years of feeling the way I do and wanting the things I do, I've never talked about it with anyone. Especially not in such gentle conversation as this. It's completely bizarre and unsettling but at the same time so relaxingly normal.

"So are you and Katie..?" I start, leaving the question in the air.

"Oh, no," Alicia laughs, waving a hand. "Katie's straight. She's seeing Oliver Wood now. Oliver and I play together at Puddlemere. That's how Katie and I became good friends again. She knows and everything though. I was with Oliver's sister for a bit and we used to go on double dates. Katie loved it."

"So she's OK with it all?" I gesture wildly, as if trying to encircle 'you liking girls' into a hand movement.

"Oh, of course," Alicia replies dismissively. "People generally are. There are some absolute arses. But just ignore them. People like that aren't worth being unhappy for. It's no reason not to be who you are."

"I suppose," I mumble, chewing my lip furiously.

"I heard you live with Harry now," she breathes out coolly.

"I do." I'm trembling thinking of Harry. For a moment there, hearing about Alicia's life and how accepted she felt, I thought perhaps the same could happen to me. But now I remember it's completely different. I've been actively engaged in deceiving and hurting the most important people in my life.

Where is that Gryffindor nature every time I hurt Harry the way I do? Where's the bravery that would stop this charade, this lie that has become my life?

"He's a good person," she mumbles, clearly torn between disapproval and empathy.

"He's the best," I swallow, looking up at Hermione engaged in conversation with Katie.

"Obviously, I'm not going to say anything. I know how complicated this can all be. But you're a good person too, Ginny. You just have to remember that," Alicia says kindly, placing her hand over mine on my knee. I look up, nodding gratefully at her.

"Thank you."

I glance at Hermione again, only to see that she's been watching me for some time. Her eyes are fixated on the friendly hand positions of Alicia and I and she looks furious enough to hex me blind.

Quickly, I draw my hand back and she knows I'm watching her.

"Excuse me, Katie, I'll be a minute," Hermione hisses angrily, pushing back the table and taking off out of the pub.

"Go," Alicia urges out of the side of her mouth, prodding me.

"Right. Sorry. Be back," I mutter, jumping out of my chair and taking off after that brown haired girl running past the window.

"Hermione!" I shout as soon as I'm outside and once again in the pouring rain. She's a blur in front of me, running and weaving through the darkened streets.

Seeing as I'm quite a bit more athletic than she is, it won't be too hard to catch up with her. Sprinting as fast as I can, I follow her shape down several side streets and round dark corners. I don't think she knows where she is going. I don't care, all I can do is chase her.

Suddenly, through the driving rain, the Shrieking Shack appears in front of me, surrounding by grassy plains and thick, towering trees. I'm out of Hogsmeade.

And I can't see her. I've lost her. She can't have made it inside the Shack, I would have seen.

Bending over, breathing heavily and trying furiously to push my wet hair from my eyes, I can't believe I've lost her. I followed her _here._

As my breathing calms down and my thundering heart slows, I hear a small, gasping noise coming from somewhere around.

As sure as I am of anything, it's the desperate, choking sob of Hermione Granger.

Careful to be as quiet as I can, I move towards where the noise is coming from. It gets stronger and more painful with every step I take until I've identified the drooping tree she's hiding behind.

"Hermione?" I call out softly. The crying stops immediately. "Hermione…"

Before I can explain or say anything else, her body emerges from behind the tree and tries to break into a run again.

But my reflexes are too fast and I close my hand around her wrist, concentrating everything I have into not letting her go.

She spins around and before I know what has hit me – she has. A raw, stinging slap across my cheek. The shock lets her momentarily slip from my grasp.

She tries to break free again but I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. Her nails dig into my arms but I still hold fast and bury my face in her hair.

"Hermione, please," I croak, tightening my hold as she struggles. It's now I realise that she is still crying wildly, hissing my name over and over again like it's an Unforgivable Curse.

"Ginny, you let me go _right now!"_ she screams. And her scream is deafening and chilling. Several birds startle and fly off from the surrounding trees. Thunder echoes angrily through the sky as the rain continues its downpour. We're both utterly soaking now, making it twice as difficult to hang on.

I utter her name into her wet hair in hushed tones, trying to quell her with my voice. I beg and plead for her to calm down, to talk to me, _please talk to me Hermione._

"I hate you," she spits viciously. "I hate the way you make me feel!"

"I don't hate you, Hermione," I tell her softly. "I will never hate you."

"I hate this," she rages on, still struggling but weakened from crying. "I hate you and I hate this. Why do I feel like this?"

I just whisper her name and hold her closer and as gently as I can before she'll try and escape. Her body sags under my grip as sobs rack her body again.

"Ginny, why do you make me feel like this? Why do I feel like this? Why can't I stop? Why can't it stop?" she begs, crying sorely. She falls against me, lying into my hold. We sink to the wet, muddy ground, legs splayed and my arms still around her waist. She clings onto my arms and her head rolls onto my shoulder.

"Please make it stop," she pleads miserably. It's hard to tell the difference between her tears and the rain running down her face. "I can't feel like this anymore. Please stop."

"I can't stop," I swallow. "I can't stop anymore."

"This is not the way it's supposed to be," she hiccups, leaning away from me, her body bending like broken.

"Nothing's supposed to be anything," I force out.

"It _is_. And this isn't it," she says wistfully. "I'm not supposed to love you."

My breath hitches, my heart skips several beats and my body becomes rigid with shock. I'm afraid to breathe in case it wasn't real. I'm afraid to move in case she runs away. I'm afraid to speak in case she takes it back.

But she doesn't. She twists in my arms, turning to face me. She searches my eyes, still wide with shock. She grabs the back of my head and pulls my lips onto hers and kisses me hungrily.

As we fall back onto the muddy ground she puts her mouth to my ear and whispers desperately: "Please stop me loving you."


	6. Chapter 6

" _Please stop me loving you."_

 

Her nails scratch and burn against my torso as she furiously tries to peel layers of drenched clothing from my body. She's stopped crying now.

And I realise… Not like this. I don't want years of waiting to end up here in the mud and the rain. Not here. Not like this. Not when she's marrying my brother next Saturday.

"Hermione, stop," I croak shakily, trying to take hold of her hands.

She smothers my words by covering her mouth with mine and her hands push under my shirt. The sudden, light contact of her fingertips to my chest jolts me to reality.

"Hermione. Stop," I command more firmly, grabbing hold of both her wrists and fighting to push her back. She struggles to touch me as much as much she struggled to get away from me only moments before. She's straddling my lap as I hold her hands aloft and breathing heavily.

"I thought this is what you wanted," she says, almost snarling. She looks almost possessed. The rage that consumed her minutes earlier has returned, flaring dangerously in her eyes. "After all, if it's just sex, we can get it out our systems. If that's all this is, it can be over. I can stop being like this."

"Hermione, don't be ridiculous," I scold, managing to slide her from me and onto the damp earth. I relinquish control of her hands and scramble to get to my feet.

"You think I just want to _sleep_ with you?" I ask her incredulously, seeing that expression. "You think that of _me_?"

Her face softens as a pang of guilt hits her. Is she thinking of Ron? Is she thinking of me? Is she thinking of anyone but herself?

"No… I…"

"You think I've been wanting and waiting all these years just to be satisfied to shag you in the mud outside the Shrieking Shack?"

"I—No-," she mumbles, looking up at me from the ground.

"Of course I want you. But I want more than that, I need more than that!" I splutter, stalking around her like she was wounded prey, ready for the taking. "Is this is all just a last gasp at freedom, final fling before you live happily ever after?"

"I don't—I don't—" she stutters.

"If it is," I start, swallowing hard. "If that's what you believe this is, then I've never known you to be so cruel, Hermione. Saying that you loved me… Just callous, vindictive, brutally nasty. And if that is the reason? The final fling? Then that may just be the silver bullet. I might just be done."

With that, clenching my fists and summoning the last remains of my strength, I turn and walk away from her. Not looking back once, I close my eyes, half turn and Disapparate on the spot.

I couldn't go back to the flat. I couldn't bear it. So when I open my eyes I'm relieved to find myself standing just outside the boundaries of my true home. The Burrow.

I wonder if they'll still be awake. Checking my watch I'm surprised to see it just getting on midnight.

I barely ever come back here now. It's too strange. The house should feel empty with the absence of all seven children. Often you can hear sounds of years gone past. Of the twins baiting Percy or of Ron's temper tantrums or of Mum's happy squeals whenever one of us was made prefect or Head Boy or something else like that happened. Something happy. Something that involved family.

My feet carry me up the path without having to think much. I just look up, entranced and comforted by my childhood home.

As soon as I push the door open, I see my mother sitting at the dinner table looking thoroughly anxious.

She looks up at me, hand over heart and hastily gets up to envelope me in a strong, warm hug.

This is what I came here for. I just need my mum. I need her to hold me and soothe me and I cannot stop myself crying on her shoulder.

"Oh, Ginny. Ginny," she breathes softly, petting my hair. She soon realises that I'm howling into her chest, curled up in her warmth like a child again. "Oh, Ginny, what's the matter?"

"I'm so unhappy mum," I mumble, making no attempt to stem the flow of my tears. "I just want to feel better again."

"My Ginny, why are you so unhappy?" she whispers into my ear. "What can I do? How can I make it better?"

She pulls back, looking into my watery eyes and smoothes my hair down.

"Mum. I—"

I'm interrupted by the sound of an owl clattering against the window pane. This erratic, silly owl hasn't gotten any better with age. It's Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl. Ron is owling my mum at this time of night.

Torn between holding me and fetching the owl, she settles for clasping my hand and dragging me over to the window. She unlatches the lock and that stupid owl hops in, hooting maniacally.

He waves his leg around in the air and my mum gingerly removes the scroll with her free hand. Pig flutters over to the water and seed dishes to feast as my mum reluctantly lets go of me to read the letter.

She unfurls it quickly and scans over it, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

"Hermione came back," she says softly. I'm not even sure if she's telling me. She might just be speaking out loud.

"Right," I mumble, moving over to the fridge to fetch some water.

She looks round at me, holding the letter tightly. "Hermione Disapparated this evening when she, Ron and I were going over wedding plans," she explains. "Ron sent me home, promising to owl when she came back. He didn't seem too worried."

I take a big gulp of water, nodding slowly and avoiding my mothers eyes.

"Do you know where she went?" she asks me carefully. She looks over the letter again. "Ron says she was filthy when she came in. That's not like Hermione. Leaving without saying a word - to roll around in mud."

"No. That's not like her," I admit, sitting down at the table.

Fuck. Merlin. Fuck.

If my mother's as clever as I know she is, surely she could have worked out that Hermione and I arrived back at our respective homes at the same time. That's why she's looking at me the way she is. She knows I was with Hermione. She knows.

Oh Merlin, my mum knows.

"Did she happen to say why she left?" Mum asks tentatively.

"When would she be able to tell me that?" I retort sullenly. I'm staring at the hardwood, not meeting the Molly Weasley Gaze-of-Truth. Even the twins got tripped up by that one a few times in their formative years.

I'm fucked.

"Ginny, darling," she says softly, sliding beside me and slipping an arm around my waist. "You're a bit filthy yourself."

Looking down with a slight groan, I see my shirt covered in dirt and my jeans caked with muck. How how _how_ could I have failed to _tergeo_ this before I came in the house? Am I a complete idiot?

I didn't know. I didn't think she would know that Hermione was in the exact same state.

"It's OK that you were with her. You're her friend as well," Mum soothes, rubbing my back. "You have every right to be there for her as much as your brother."

Oh thank Merlin. Thank _fucking Merlin_.

"I was with her," I admit, tight lipped. I don't really see how I can lie my way out of seeing her. But she doesn't have to know why or what happened.

"Cold feet, I suppose?" Mum guesses.

"Yes. Cold feet," I reply with a slight shudder. Mum assumes it's because I'm cold as I've been soaked in the rain. She swiftly _accio's_ a warmed blanket and wraps it around my shoulders.

In truth, it's not the damp giving me shivers. It's Hermione. And her and everything I said to her. And everything she _didn't_ say to me. And one thing she did – but I try to push that out of my mind.

Was it true what I accused her of? Is that why she didn't say anything? Is that really what this is? Or _was_.

I plan to never be alone with Hermione Granger again.

My mum studies me as I tumble into my thoughts. I can see her out of the corner of my eye scrutinising every move I make. I wonder if she expects me to break down and confess some horrible truth?

I wish I could.

"I should… I should send a letter to Harry to let him know where I am," I tell her softly, getting off the bench.

"Use Pig. Ron won't mind," Mum says cheerily, flicking her wand to boil the kettle.

"Right," I mumble, finding a spare bit of parchment and quill.

_Harry,_

_Sorry about running out suddenly earlier._ Because I am. I am sorry, Harry. I am so sorry to have done this to you. _But something came up. I decided to stay at my mum's tonight for some home comfort. Give you a bit of space in the flat tonight._ And so I won't have to look you in the eye and have the inevitable conversation just yet. _I'll be back tomorrow by the time you get back from work._

_Love,_ I wince as I write this, thinking how little I have done to deserve his love in return.

_Ginny_.

Hoping it's not too short, or abrupt, or transparent as Alicia pointed out I'm prone to being; I tie it to Pig's leg.

"Take this to Harry. And then go back to Ron, OK?" I tell him clearly. He hoots and I can only assume he understood. Hopping out of the window, he takes off into the night.

"Hot chocolate, dear?" Mum offers, sliding a steaming mug onto the table.

"Thanks," I nod weakly, retaking my seat.

"Is it—" Mum starts, biting her lip hesitantly. "Is it Harry that's got you upset like this? Or is it something to do with Ron and Hermione? Are they all right? Or…" She holds out her hands helplessly.

"It's complicated, Mum," I mumble, sipping my drink. The warmth instantly comforts and relaxes me. Mum's hot chocolate does that. Soothes you and makes you believe everything will be fine. I don't know why, I'm sure she doesn't put anything like a calming draught in it. Must just be the way she makes it.

Thank Merlin we're Weasley's and not Black's. Otherwise there'd be a healthy dose of Veritaserum in here too.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Ginny dear?" she asks softly, trying very hard not to seem too interfering. "You know whatever it is, you can tell me. You know, don't you?"

I feel the words bubbling on my tongue, swathed in the hot milky drink. They rise up inside of me. I look at her, so concerned and so worried and I am just desperate to tell her. I _have_ to. I must tell her.

"No, nothing, Mum," I sigh, drinking more. "Like you said, Hermione's just got pre-wedding jitters. I was just being a friend."

"OK," she nods, seemingly accepting this. I bite my tongue lightly, silently scolding myself for lying when I so badly want to tell her the truth. I've kept many secrets from my mum over the years. Of course I have. Who hasn't? Silly things. Frivolous things.

Nothing that was tearing me apart.

It would make me feel so much better to tell her, I know it would. But I can't bear to let the words part from my lips.

"Are you and Harry having problems?" she persists.

I nod slowly, sure I can at least tell her this. "We are."

She sighs gently, sitting beside me once again and pulling me into a tight hug. "It's OK. You don't have to tell me. But when you're ready, you know I'm here."

I shudder again, deadly sure that she knows. Why would she say something like that if she didn't know?

She doesn't know. I'm just being paranoid. Paranoid Ginny, always reading much too much into everything.

Like Hermione.

_She said she loved me._

No. She implied she did. And love was entrapped by 'stop' and 'not supposed'. It was hardly an unwavering declaration of devotion.

And all she wanted was to 'get it out of her system.'

I can't think about that right now. That, combined with my mum holding me like a child will surely end in tears. And then I won't be able to help but tell her.

So instead, I cuddle back into her as she kisses the top of my head. "I'll make up your bed, OK?"

She kisses my forehead again and disappears up the stairs.

Despite these horrible, terrible past two days, it feels good to be home right now. Feels nice to be wrapped in a soft blanket smelling pungently of our whole family. Feels safe to be lead up the stairs by Mum and put to bed. Feels warm to lie down on my childhood bed and snuggle into my favourite pillow. And it feels like some sort of respite for my mind from the recent drama to close my eyes and fall asleep in the Burrow once more.

It's a Monday morning, but somehow it feels better because I'm awoken by mum bringing me a tray of tea and toast as opposed to Harry accidentally kicking me in bed; or the dustman rattling up and down the street outside.

I smile widely as she sets the breakfast tray on my lap and she kisses me on the cheek, wishing me good morning.

"Your father's wondering if you'll be going into the Ministry with him this morning?" she asks, searching through my closets to see if I have any suitable robes left over here.

"Yeah," I nod, biting into a bit of toast. After last night I honestly thought I'd be pulling a sicky this morning, going AWOL on the working adult world. But I feel quite good. Everything seems better on this side of sleep.

"Thought so. Well. If you stayed home I was just going to make you help me get the house ready for the Granger's arriving on Thursday and the wedding on Saturday. I can't believe Ron and Hermione have left everything so late," she mutters, holding out some midnight blue robes for inspection. "It's so unlike Hermione. Obviously Ronald would never get anything done unless he has someone badgering him incessantly."

And there it is. The reason I should be feeling utterly awful.

But I won't let it. I've had the most restful nights sleep since the engagement party on Saturday. Or since I got the engagement owl six months ago. Or since Hermione left Hogwarts on the arm of my brother.

I feel rested and refreshed and ready for a new start. This week will not destroy me. I am going to fix things. I am going to feel better about myself.

First off is telling Harry the truth; getting things sorted and stop being such an awful person with him.

Then I'll talk to Mum. And this weight depressing my chest will be lifted.

I won't go to the wedding, I'm not a complete masochist. I'll move on and I'll forget there ever was a Hermione Granger.

Life will start being good again. I can't remember the last time it was, truly.

Probably when I was innocent. And oblivious. And not in the merciless clutches of the future Mrs Ron Weasley.

I am strong, and I can do this.

"—And I know it's Wizarding tradition to prepare everything in the fortnight leading up til the wedding, but usually people start a lot earlier nowadays. It's not like back then when everyone would drop everything at the drop of a hat for a celebration. Honestly, I think it must be laziness," Mum rambles on. I can see I've missed nothing of importance while day dreaming.

"Must be," I concur, slurping down my tea. She shoots me a disapproving look which I return with a grin and wiping my chin.

"You're happier this morning."

"Like you always say Mum: Good night's sleep and all that," I smile, devouring the last of my toast.

"If you're still hungry, your father's making boiled eggs downstairs. The _muggle way,_ " she groans. "Likely set the house on fire. And there's no way we'll be able to fix that for Thursday."

"Probably not," I reply in a sing-song, slipping out of bed.

"Oh. I just thought," Mum says suddenly, holding her head. "Muggles."

"Yeah? Well, they've always been around, Mum," I joke.

"No, _no_. Hermione's family."

"Well. They know she's a witch. They've seen her do magic. I'm sure our house might be a little strange for them but—"

"Not her parents, her other family," Mum mumbles, looking annoyed she hasn't thought of this before. "Her aunts and uncles and cousins. And muggle friends. They won't be allowed to know. Oh, we're going to have to scrap all the plans and come up with something _safe_ …"

"Mum, I think you're getting ahead of yourself," I tell her. "Hermione doesn't have any aunts or uncles. Her parents were only children and her grandparents are dead."

"How awful," Mum says ruefully, shaking her head.

"It's just different, Mum. She has a small family. We have a big one," I reply, ruffled.

"Hm, well what about her muggle friends, then?"

"Doesn't have any," I respond quickly. But then stop to think about it. She _doesn't_ have any muggle friends, not even from her childhood before Hogwarts. She told me bluntly when I asked if she had any friends at home.

It's different for me. I grew up with eight other people. And countless cousins, aunts and uncles. I didn't really have any place to meet other children. I really didn't need to though. Even when Ron when away to Hogwarts, I still had my cousins.

But Hermione went to school. A muggle primary school. She was in a class with twenty other people for seven years. And she doesn't have any childhood friends from there? No one who missed her when she went to Hogwarts, or wondered where she'd gone? No neighbouring children she used to play with?

"Oh. That's a shame," Mum breathes out.

"Well, she's not the easiest person to be friends with," I mumble, studying my muddy shoes. Looks like it'll take both me and Mum cleaning these before they're halfway acceptable.

I look up to ask her what she thinks of the shoes and she's staring right into me. Like I shouldn't be speaking ill of her son's fiancé.

But, then again, I suppose she thinks of Hermione like a daughter too.

"I didn't mean it like that," I roll my eyes, trying to take the edge off the atmosphere.

"Well, what did you mean?" she asks in a prickly tone.

"I meant she's not the easiest to _make_ friends with. Harry and Ron only became friends with her after that troll thing, remember?" I explain.

"That. Troll. _Thing_ ," Mum says through gritted teeth, clearly remembering how angry she was. "Yes."

"But after you get to know her, she's all right," I concede.

"You were best friends throughout your senior years," Mum says softly, turning to me. "And now she's just 'all right'? What's happened?"

"We grew apart, is all, Mum." I feel like I've been repeating this mantra for years.

"Well, I'll be glad to have her in the family properly. I suppose she always was," Mum trails off thoughtfully. "In name soon, though. It'll be nice to have her as a Weasley."

"Yeah," I mutter, grabbing a towel and heading for the shower.

I still haven't washed since last night. I'm still covered in mud. My hair's a bit damp. And my skin still carries the faintest scent of Hermione.

I will scrub until I'm raw.


	7. Chapter 7

With a kiss from my mum and a plastic lunchbox pressed into my hand, I step back into the fireplace for work.

On the other side, Dad is waiting patiently for me. People bustle around us, some just mere streaks of colour as they rush to their various departments, erring on the side of late. Dad's fortunate enough to be his own boss in his division and I know my boss isn't really that bothered about punctuality.

In fact, she's just popped out the fireplace a few over from me and onto the Ministry concourse.

"Ginny! Arthur!"

Julia Bones comes rushing towards us, her arms full of papers. I know she's badly organised, always late and forever losing things in her crap-pile of an office, but she's a good and fair boss. Usually up for a laugh as well. Being Edgar Bones' daughter and Amelia Bones' niece carries fair weight around here. And in many ways she doesn't live up to the mass expectation. She's as like Amelia Bones as Tonks is to any one of her Black aunts. That is to obviously say: not a bloody bit.

But when you're the only one of your family to live through a Death Eater attack as a toddler, people tend to cut you a bit of slack. Even if it was nearly thirty years ago and she hid under the bed, crying into her teddy.

She told me all this over a barrel of firewhiskey one night, months ago. And I, in turn, told her that I'd kissed a girl once. Seemed like a huge secret but didn't really match her confession in the slightest.

Puts it all in perspective. _Important to remember that._ Important to remember that this is nothing and everything passes.

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder, awakening me from my thoughts.

"See you later, have a good day, all right?" he smiles at me, kissing my forehead. This would be embarrassing; being kissed like a child by my father, in my place of work, in front of my boss. But this week I honestly couldn't be more grateful.

Mum's words from this morning keep replaying in my head. _It'll be nice to have her as a Weasley._ I have no idea why. They won't go away.

They have no meaning. They're no words of any consequence to me.

They. Are. Not.

But yet they bounce around inside my mind, rattling off the sides and echoing incessantly. If I could stop my thoughts whirring for half an hour, I would be so eternally thankful.

Dad waves genially at Julia and heads off to the lift. Julia grinds to a halt in front of me and promptly deposits her stack of papers in my waiting arms.

"All right, Gin?" she asks with a grin. "Have a good weekend, did you?"

"It was OK," I reply, picking my words carefully.

She weaves through the crowd, taking my arm as we go until we reach the lift to our department on the far side of the fountain centre piece. "You and Harry get up to much?"

"Eh, didn't see him a lot actually," I tell her, shuffling into the lift sideways. Julia slides part of the stack in her own arms after pushing the button the floor.

Now she can see my face. And the slightly annoyed, perplexed expression I'm wearing.

"It's was that engagement party this weekend, wasn't it?" she remembers suddenly, taking no notice any faces I may be pulling.

"Yes."

"Well? How was it?" she prods me with her elbow.

"It was fine. It was like any other family party ever. It was fine," I tell her firmly. She squints at me as I notice that the lift is opening at level five. This has to be wrong, our Education and Examination offices are on level one. "Why are we stopping here?"

"Oh! Forgot to tell you, we're having a meeting first thing with Magical Cooperation," she says, rolling her eyes. I'm sure she'd smack herself on the forehead if her arms weren't laden with papers. She catches sight of the clock in the corridor as she tugs me out of the lift. "Actually, we're already late. It's in the boardroom two at the end."

"So, what? If I hadn't met you in the Atrium then I wouldn't have known?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as we quick-walk to the meeting.

"Well, I left a note on your desk on Friday night," she says sullenly. "You would have gotten here _eventually._ "

"Great," I reply convincingly.

Julia spins round and backs into the boardroom door to open it. From behind her Percy looks up, annoyed.

"Sorry!" she calls round to the waiting faces as she takes her seat. "Had to pick up some files. And the floo's were jammed, did no one else have bother?"

Everyone else, from both our division and Percy's, seems more amused than annoyed. Percy looks the only one who could spit nails.

"Sorry, Percy, carry on!" she says airily, finding and seat and slumping down.

I shuffle into a seat beside a few colleagues and drift off. Any meeting Percy calls can't have the slightest bit of relevance or interest to my job.

-

_Ron wrapped his dressing gown around him and scuffed his way through to the living room. He wasn't surprised, although a little relieved to see that Hermione was lying on the sofa, covered in an old patchwork quilt. Half of him thought she might have left again without saying a word. Or that perhaps she didn't even come back last night; it had all been a figment of his wanton imagination._

_Her hair covered most of her face so he couldn't tell if she was asleep or just pretending to be. Her shoes from last night were sitting at the side of the rug, caked in mud. She was soaking when she had finally appeared. He didn't know where she could have been last night to get covered in mud; it certainly wasn't raining here or anywhere around their home. Or even London._

_She must have gone further a field, he thought. Where and why were two questions plaguing his thoughts. He tried not to be worried, put it down to last minute jitters or perhaps something at work._

_The fact that she hadn't been in work for a week due to wedding planning was another matter entirely. It would be easier if this was all about work._

_She wouldn't say anything last night when she came in the door. Actually, she snuck in the door, hoping not to be noticed. Which, of course, was impossible as all he was doing was sitting waiting for her. She didn't talk to him, or barely acknowledged his presence when she passed his waiting arms._

_Ron couldn't begin to fathom what the Hell was going on inside of her head. He really did try, tossing different ideas through his mind. He was happy he was going to marry the woman he had loved since he was a child. Nothing could be closer to perfect in his opinion. Standing in front of his family and hers, telling her that he would love and honour her forever would cement something special._

_The more he tried to think what was going on in her head, the more that perfect image appeared in his mind. Putting the ring on her finger, being bonded for life, kissing her as a husband; there was nothing more he wanted right now._

_Was this not true for her? Had he done something to upset her? Was it the stress of planning?_

_None of these answers seemed to satisfy Ron as he gazed at Hermione lying motionless on the couch. He could almost see fifteen year old Hermione standing over his sleeping fiancée intoning the same sentence over and over again._

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon, doesn't mean we all have."

_How much he wished he had the fifteen year old Hermione to spell things out for him in clear, plain English. Who better to explain what was going on that his bossy, intelligent, acutely aware school friend?_

_He felt a momentary surge of anger. Hermione knows that he isn't any good at this stuff. She's always known. He can't decipher all this mad, girl nonsense – Who on earth without ovaries can? Why is she acting this way? Especially so close to what he felt was the most important day of their lives. Madness…_

_He was about to shout at her, screaming 'Why won't you just bloody_ tell me _what's wrong instead of this crap?' when she began to stir. He walked through to the kitchen, pointing his wand at the kettle and muttering an instant boiling charm. He poured two mugs of tea, one with nearly half a carton of milk in it – Just the way Hermione liked her tea first thing in the morning._

_He took them back through to the living room and saw that Hermione was sitting up, yawning and trying to wrestle her hair back into a bobble._

" _Tea," he muttered, setting the mug in front of her. It was the only thing he could think to say that definitely wouldn't upset her. However, on the off chance that this was offensive, he backed away and sat in the comfy chair opposite her._

" _Thank you," she whispered, putting the drink to her lips._

" _Hermione, what's wrong?" Ron asked desperately. He felt that he couldn't keep the words inside any longer. He edged forward in his chair, forgetting about his tea. "I know no one ever tells you what's wrong when you ask them that. And I know I'm supposed to work out what's wrong with you without asking – But I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm rubbish, I fully get that. But I just wanna help with whatever's making you feel like this. We're getting married, y'know? We should be a team. We should deal with stuff together."_

" _I'm sorry about last night, Ron," Hermione murmured quietly, her eyes roving everywhere but him. "I don't know what came over me. I just needed to be alone."_

" _Is it planning stuff? Cause I'll do more of that," Ron nodded eagerly, seeing that he was getting somewhere. "I promise I'll pay more attention – No more sarcastic asides. If you want, I'll do some of the little things with Mum so you don't have to think or get stressed about it. Would that help?"_

_Hermione rolled her head up to look at him, her hands supporting her chin. She smiled wearily at him. For a moment, a strange feeling came over Ron. Like Hermione was just about to tell him something momentous, huge._

_In actual fact, she just sighed and smiled at him again._

" _I can manage, Ron. But thank you," she told him softly._

" _It's no bother," he enthused, moving over to sit beside her. "For all my bitching, it's actually quite fun. Mum and I got some done while… while you were away last night." He put an arm around Hermione and tugged her gently against him. A sudden flash of inspiration hit him and he turned to her, face shining with triumph. "Is it the magic stuff with your parents coming and everything? Are you worried that our families won't get on or one of your cousins will start fighting with one of my cousins? Or that my brothers'll get drunk and tell your muggle friends you're a witch?"_

" _I don't have any cousins, you know that," Hermione replied, almost sullenly._

" _Right," Ron nodded, his cheeks growing intensely hot._

" _And if any muggles were coming, they'd catch on quite quickly," Hermione said evenly, shrugging out of Ron's hold and standing up. She started to gnaw on her thumbnail, irritated._

" _Sorry," he mumbled, looking down at his bare feet. He pulled his ratty dressing gown tightly around his body and hugged himself. He sighed, thinking that somehow, he had managed to cock it all up again. He wanted to say that he would just stop trying to understand her, but Ron had never been very passive-aggressive. And it would just be unfair._

" _I don't actually care, Ron," Hermione said clearly. "Don't make it an issue."_

" _Right," he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face. He cleared his throat and looked up at her, hoping to change the mood in the room. "Eh, have you talked to Ginny yet, by the way?"_

" _What?" she asked sharply. Ron slouched back, slightly surprised to her rather violent reaction to the mention of his sister._

" _About the bridesmaid thing?" he asked weakly. "Mum was asking me about it last night when… when it was just me and her. And she wanted to know why. I mean, I have no idea why. Apart from that Harry-Theory. Which you said was crap. So. Other than that…"_

" _Well I don't know why," Hermione replied haughtily, folding her arms around herself more tightly. "Afraid to say I don't have any insight into the inner workings of Ginerva Weasley's mind."_

" _Scary place," Ron blew out as Hermione picked up her tea and began drumming her nails on the mug. "I just meant - did you talk to her about it? When you went to see her that other morning after she took off?"_

" _No. I mostly asked her what the Hell she was playing at giving Harry a bloody fright like that," Hermione half-hissed into her mug, becoming more agitated._

" _Is it—Is it something with you two? That's what Harry said," Ron asked tentatively._

" _Harry said what?" Hermione snapped, something flaring from behind her eyes._

" _Said that maybe-maybe-you two had a fight or a falling out we didn't know anything about. I mean, it's obvious you two don't get on like you did in school. And that's OK. I'm not hassling you to hang out with my little sister or anything. It's just, you_ used _to be friends."_

" _Used to be, Ronald," Hermione told him briskly, going through to the kitchen to deposit her half full mug. She leaned against the sink, rubbing her eyes. She called through to Ron (It was so much easier talking to him when he was in another room): "Just because you and Harry have been best friends since school, doesn't mean it works out that nicely for everyone else. People grow up, they grow apart."_

" _Hey, Harry's been your best friend since school, too, y'know!" he shouted back through._

_Hermione sighed, holding her face in both of her hands. She couldn't stop the aching, pounding, thrumming that was reverberating through her mind and body._

" _Ron, that's not even the point," she muttered quietly, half wanting him to hear. Arguing over whether or not Harry was her best friend as well was no where near the point, and rather childish to boot._

_She padded back out of the kitchen, arms wrapped tightly, feeling more cold by the minute._

" _Was it something big that happened?" he guessed, clearly referring to Ginny again._

" _No, Ron. I told you last night, nothing happened," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Nothing happened apart from life. There was no falling out, I don't hate her. End of."_

" _Right. So she could still be our bridesmaid, then?"_

_Hermione wanted to scream from frustration. He was infuriating. She was about to yell that the wedding wasn't the most important thing in her life right now. But quickly, she bit her tongue. Because that would have been wrong. This very week should be the time when her impending wedding_ should _be the most important thing._

" _Probably not. You know your sister," Hermione said steadily, shuffling closer to the door. "If she doesn't want to do something, she won't do it. No one's going to make her."_

" _That's not true," Ron replied thoughtfully, crossing to the window to let the morning Owl with the Daily Prophet hop in. "Mum could make her do stuff."_

" _When she was a child, and she had no choice," Hermione pointed out forcefully._

" _Suppose maybe Harry could. He is her boyfriend," Ron wondered aloud, oblivious to the rising colour flushing Hermione's face as he paid the Owl._

" _Harry couldn't make her do something against her will anymore than you could me!" Hermione exploded._

" _And your mum could probably guilt her when she comes as well. Mum's are generally good at that, aren't they?" Ron asked rhetorically. He scanned the front page of the Prophet, still not noticing the extreme agitated state of Hermione._

" _P'haps we could get my mum, yours and Harry to lock her in a room and stick a bridesmaid dress on her," Ron laughed softly, sitting down with the paper._

" _Ron, will you_ just drop it _!" Hermione half-shrieked. Immediately, Ron dropped his paper and looked up at her._

" _Hermione, I just want my sister to be a part of the day I've been waiting ages for," he implored softly. "I know she'd regret it later if she wasn't. And because-because I have a feeling that she won't come otherwise - If you don't make this up with her. And I want her there on my wedding day. It's really important to me. I want all my family to see us get married. Especially Ginny."_

" _Maybe it would be better if she didn't come at all," Hermione hissed. Ron's face fell. She tried to look away from him but found it impossible._

" _I need to go out," Hermione said shortly, quickly escaping from Ron's hurt gaze and going to the bathroom. She locked the door and turning on the shower, letting the steam fill the room._

_She peeled off her clothes and stood in front of the mirror, just looking at herself. Hermione had always hated her body, what woman was happy with the lot? But Hermione had never felt comfortable naked. Because when she was unclothed not only did she feel physically defenceless, but mentally; that her nudity allowed the viewer full access to her thoughts and memories._

_This notion was ridiculous, she knew that._ Legilimens _was the only device by which someone could gain entry to her privacy. But she had always felt this, even as a child._

_Now she stood in front of the mirror and almost pleaded to be heard. There was still some mud entangled in her hair, dirt smudges on her cheek and across her chest._

_Dirty, Hermione thought. As it should be._

_She covered her arms across her chest, ashamed of being seen by her own reflection. As she did so, she caught a scarce scent on her arm. Pressing the flesh to her nose, she inhaled the smell that was unmistakeably Ginny. Clear and fruity with the slightest kick; she still wore the same perfume she did in school. Hermione doubted that she would ever change it; she shouldn't, as it complimented her perfectly._

_The aroma induced a sharp kick to the stomach as she greedily tried to inhale it further. A swirl of memories clouded before Hermione's eyes. Of mud and kisses and the choking, unbearable, irrepressible desire that rose within her last night. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she slid down the bathroom wall to the floor. Her face reddened with a feeling that was somewhat like embarrassment or regret, but yet neither of them._

_She had clung and tore at Ginny like she was possessed and begged to be freed from the emotions that were holding her captive. She would have devoured Ginny right there had she not been stopped. She snarled and snatched at the red head as if she would never be sated._

_Hermione shuddered to remember the icy cold jealousy that took over her body and drove her out into the night in the first place. She knew at the time that she shouldn't feel anything. She told herself it over and over again as she fled in the rain. She had nothing to be jealous of: Ginny was not hers to have, nor would she ever be, nor did she want to be._

_But still Hermione knew that it wasn't exactly true._

_She covered her face and groaned, wondering what Alicia and Katie must have thought. Did they suspect? Did Ginny tell them? Were they right now discussing what a terrible person she was, fooling around with her fiancé's sister only a week before their wedding?_

" _Because that's all it is," Hermione said out loud, in a weak voice. "Fooling around."_

_She pressed her nose to her arm again, instantly comforted and excited by the fading smell._

" _I am a fool," she murmured, the air around her growing hot as the steam from the shower created a mist in the room._

_She smelled Ginny again and resolved not to wash it off._


	8. Chapter 8

I try to push her out, but can't. Try and close myself off to her, but I can't. I've tried to swallow my feelings for years, dismiss them as a crush, a silly, foolish crush; a hangover.

I could go days without consciously thinking of her for a while. But when I heard her name or thought of her, it made it all the more terrible. Like abstaining from her made it more painful on the return. Like not drinking for months at a time, to find the first sip of Butterbeer gets you wrecked.

Wrecked. That's how I'd describe my seventh year a Hogwarts. Not so much because I was often frequenting the Hog's Head courtesy of some helpful hints from the twins. Just wrecked. Sometimes the sunlight hurt my eyes on a Monday morning. At weekends I wouldn't rise til late and barely spoke to anyone.

Sometimes I hung about with Luna. It's easy to get away with being hideously depressed around Luna. The forest is a dark place filled with creatures she likes to talk to. At first she'll ask you, rather bluntly as well, but once she gets no answer then she'll leave it. Let you get on with your misery. All the while discussing whatever ludicrous beast her Dad made up this month.

She's fun and she did bring me out of it for a while. I think she knew what was wrong. Thankfully, she had the smallest amount of tact not to attempt to guess.

This past weekend has made me feel like I'm back there again. Ginny Weasley, seventh year. I had plenty of friends across my year, but the gaping absence of any blood relatives was palpable-Even though I was incredibly glad that Ron had buggered off after what happened. I couldn't bear to walk the same halls as him every day as the wound got bigger and bloodier.

Time didn't heal me. It feels like time made it so much worse that eventually it numbed, like cutting a limb off all together. Like burning metal. Something that becomes so hot it eventually turns white; it's past the point of endurance so it looks like it just stops feeling all together. Numb.

And numb I remained for a long time. Until the engagement notice. Until the wedding invite. Until the party on Saturday.

The moment my lips touched hers, I defrosted and could feel everything in its full, bloodied, intense agony.

Not that I'm missing anything at this stupid meeting, but I hate how I can fully sink into this black hole of thoughts for hours on end. I can't stop my mind racing and I can't stop wishing and regretting and hoping. I can't stop picking apart moments in my life over and over again. There isn't a single semi-significant thing that has happened to me in my life that I haven't autopsied to death.

And I'm quite aware that's a horrible mixed metaphor.

Merlin, I wish my mind would just _stop…_

Slowly, the cloud of my thoughts lifts and a single, brisk voice breezes in. And it sounds like I've started to pay attention at exactly the right moment: the end.

"So together, I think we can make this massive project not only a success, but a triumph," Percy finishes with a flourish. He beams around the table (and he rarely smiles like that) looking completely delighted with his presentation.

Of course, having not listened to a single bloody word I don't know why he's looking so chuffed with himself. My elder brother rarely says anything worth hearing. It's harsh, but he's a bit of a boring arse. Heart in the right place, but boring arse all the same.

"Sounds really exciting!" the young witch intern whispers into my ear. "I think I might apply for one of the lower positions – What about you?"

"What?" I blink rapidly.

"It's visionary!" she gushes, so excited she doesn't seem to know what to do with herself as she bobs up and down in her chair. She gazes over at my brother. "He's such a genius to have brought this all together."

"Percy?!" I splutter. "Genius?"

"Ginny," Julia Bones calls from the other side of the board room. She motions for me to come over and taps her watch. I don't have a chance to ask the intern what she's actually talking about because she's scurried away to get Percy's autograph, or something.

I glance at my watch, seeing it's just after 10am. And we always have somewhere to be at 10am. Looking back up at Julia, she taps her own watch again and gestures that she'll meet me outside.

I've never seen a room full of Ministry employees so utterly illuminated by a meeting before. Looks like I actually did miss something important.

Meeting Julia outside the board room, she grabs my arm and hustles me to the end of the corridor to the lift. Impatiently, she shoves me in with her foot as I'm still a little dazed by the sight of people chatting animatedly to Percy, slapping his back and shaking his hand saying 'Bravo, Weasley, Bravo. Pull this off and it'll be honours for you!'

I turn to Julia who's been hammering the level one button maniacally so no one else can make it into the lift. Once the doors close, disappointing a few of witches on the other side, she grins at me.

"So. What did you think?" she demands, her arms folded and leaning against the lift wall. She _knows_ I never listen, she just likes to put me through this with the actual 'Boss' routine.

"Think?" I repeat, licking my lips.

"Ginny, you _do_ think. I've seen evidence of this feat on several occasions," she smirks.

"Feat?"

"You weren't listening were you?" she laughs triumphantly.

I open and close my mouth several times, gesturing wildly at her empty arms. "You _know_ I never listen to Percy! And – _and -_ you left all your shit, parchment and folders, lying around the boardroom. We're going to have to go back into that alternate reality where Percy is a 'genius' to get them, thank you very much!" I fume, my ears feeling hot. I'm trying so hard to turn this around on her. If something momentous has happened, how am I supposed to explain that I was lost in my head instead of paying attention?

I turn to push the button for level five again when she catches my arm to stop me.

"Don't bother. They were just a decoy. When you're late for meetings like _that_ , people tend to hassle you less if you look really harassed and are carrying a load of paperwork. They'll be worried you'll foist some of it off on them if they bitch at you," she shrugs.

"I clearly have so much to learn from you," I tell her in a sarcastic monotone as I watch the numbers move up.

"Clearly," she agrees, missing the sarcastic edge.

The lift arrives at our floor and we quick walk along to my office. Once inside, we start our Monday morning ten AM routine which involves locking the door, transfiguring the desk chair into an overstuffed armchair not unlike the ones in the Gryffindor common room; tea or Firewhisky – mostly Firewhisky, depending on how bad the first hour of work has been that day – and me smoking under the fan which I charm to spin three times as fast. It's not as if you can hang out the window when you work underground.

Grown up work isn't all bad.

Julia settles in the armchair while I rifle through my robe pockets looking for my lighter. Giving up, I pull out my wand and mutter _Incendio._

"All right. So for the slow and terminally dozy among us," Julia starts as she pours out two drinks. Apparently it's a whisky day. "This is what's happening. Your brother has come up with - and is putting into action - a proposal for a European Masters School of Magic."

"Sorry—What?" I gasp, inhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

"A central school in Europe, bonding together the Wizarding school institutions, a product of many Ministry's across the continent. A place where school-leavers can go to become Masters in their chosen fields," she tells me, scooting the glass over to me. "Potions Masters, Charms Masters, Transfiguration Masters – All bred in the one place and tutored by the best Europe has to offer. Also, a place for funded research – Give the old Masters an incentive for teaching. It'll strengthen ties between Wizarding Ministries and help forge the diplomatic bonds that'll avert another Dark Wizard war. It'll produce the best in their field and give them free reign to invent and concoct new spells or methods."

I nod silently, taking all of this in. "So. _You_ were listening to Percy. Word for word, in fact. That sounds like it fell right out of my brother's mouth."

"Well, someone had to listen," Julia rolls her eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think that Percy… Is a genius," I surmise, blowing smoke into the fan. "That's really incredible. I can see why everyone's so excited now."

"It's a few years off from being up and running, of course," Julia remarks, sipping her whisky. "But the real work starts here. That's why our department was in there. It's a joint venture between International Magical Cooperation and Education and Examination. But this is a chance to do something really special."

"Absolutely," I nod furiously, raising my glass. "If things start getting busy around here the other 10 months of the year when examinations aren't on, then we may actually have to stop drinking at ten in the morning."

"Never," Julia dismisses seriously. "But that's if any of us are still here. The founding year of this project is based on the continent: scouting locations, inspecting every Magic school in every participating country, short-listing candidates for Master teaching and research grants. This is huge. This is founding a school."

As I laugh I cough violently, choking half on the whisky, half on the smoke. "You _don't think_ Percy's going to try and name it after himself? Or create a 'Weasley' house, or something?"

"It won't be big enough for houses," Julia giggles. "But I wouldn't put it past him to try and name a Wing or a Tower."

We laugh together, clinking our glasses heartily. After a moments pause, I turn to her. "You going to go for it?"

"I don't know," Julia replies thoughtfully. "Really don't know. It's easy here. I'm sure I'm due for moving up to Head of a bigger department or something. But _this_ is really something."

"Well. Y'know. If it doesn't blow up in Percy's face if he finds out that no one wants to train to be a Potions Master in the 21st century," I shrug.

"You going for it?" she asks me.

"It'd be nice to get away for a while," I muse. "But I burn horribly in the sun. You should have seen me when we went to Egypt."

"There are spells for that kind of thing," Julia interrupts, waving a hand airily. "You can't let a little sunburn stop you… But what about Harry?"

Ah. What about Harry…

I open my mouth to answer when a small paper plane dives up from under the crack in my door. It hovers in mid air before transforming into a loose paper rendering of the Welcome Witch from reception.

"Miss Weasley, I've been told to tell you that Healer Hermione Granger is here to see you. She informs me it's a matter of the utmost importance," the shrill voice echoes from the floating paper face.

My heart nearly stops. Julia looks at me with great interest as I cough loudly and drain the rest of the Firewhisky. As it burns down my throat, I gesture for her to put another measure in the glass.

"Tell her—" I splutter, still forcing the liquid down. "Tell her that I am _extremely_ busy and will not be able to take a meeting."

Julia's eyebrows arch.

"Very well," the paper head nods. It pauses, 'looking' from side to side and sniffing the air. "Has someone been muggle smoking in here?"

"No!" I tell it, shooing it out the door and slamming it behind the white face.

"And what—" Julia coughs lightly, "was that all about?"

"Nothing, it was about nothing," I mumble, fumbling with my cigarettes packet.

"That was your brother's fiancée, wasn't it?" she remembers carefully.

"Yes. Probably wanting dress advice, or flowers, or catering charms or whatever and I just can't bothered with that today," I babble, focussing on the swirling whisky.

"Right," she nods, unconvinced. "So you hate her."

"I don't hate her," I mutter, scooting over to my position underneath the fan again. "I just don't have time."

"Right."

"Look," I tell her, angrily stubbing out my half finished cigarette and choking down my Firewhisky. "We have work to do."

"Right," she smirks, draining her own glass. "Work.

She crosses to the door, opens it and leans back. "So have you or haven't you told your brother you hate his soon-to-be wife?"

"I don't hate her!" I exclaim angrily. Loud enough that everyone just returning to work after the meeting looks up startled.

I haven't left my office all day. Didn't want to deal with any accusing stares from Julia or any funny looks from the rest of the department. Things do not seem as bright as when I woke up this morning…

Now, I'm sitting, chin resting on my hands, watching the clock intently. Just waiting for it to tick slowly onto five 'o' clock and I'll go home.

I'll go home to Harry and I'll tell him it's over. We'll have that talk. And I'll pack a bag for Mum's tonight. Tomorrow everyone in work'll be talking about Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. They'll be guessing, gossiping, making up reasons why it all ended so suddenly, especially when we seemed so happy.

Seemed.

I'm dreading that look in Harry's eyes when I tell him. Fearing the look he'll give me when I try to explain that it's not his fault. And imagining his disgust when I tell him I love him, just _not like that._

But if any part of this day is to be salvaged, I need to do it. I won't sleep another night as good as last when I made my decision. I'm leaving Harry Potter.

With a sigh, the clock sings out that it's five, time to go home. Fred and George got me that clock for last Christmas, it sings a different rhyme every day of the year. They never told me where they got it, I'm guessing they made it. Because the kind of songs it sings are just their kind of hilarious. And gruesome.

Throwing my coat over my arm, I barely give the office another look before opening the door.

And it all happens so suddenly. Something grabs and squeezes my arm tightly as well as latching onto my shoulder, nails piercing; babbling words that don't make much sense, that flow right past me as I struggle to adjust.

Hermione. Is holding onto me in front of my office. Departing colleagues are keeping one eye fixed on us while they slowly pack away their things. The passing maintenance staff give us the once over. They can all hear what she's saying, but I can't. I can't focus. I can't breathe.

And judging from the volume of words spewing out of her mouth in such a short space of time, neither can Hermione.

Shaking my head, I pull her roughly backwards into my office and slam the door shut.

She's stopped talking. Or I think she has. Because the rest is silence: just my heart thundering on at a frightening speed and the last rhyming couplet from the clock.

I take a breath. I look up.

She's here, at least I didn't imagine that part. She wraps her robes around her tightly, becoming mute and awkward. Her eyes survey the office. I can't tell if she's looking for a place to sit or an emergency escape route.

"H-Hermione," I stutter, clearing my throat. I flatten myself against the door subconsciously, like I would if I were trapped in a room with several hungry, baying werewolves.

"I've been here all day," she blurts out, looking straight through me. Seemingly, she's unable to control any verbal impulses at the moment. "I've been waiting. I've waited outside your office all day."

I nod slowly, still completely bewildered. She can't decide whether to fold her arms or not, doing and undoing them several times before settling on holding fistfuls of robe at her sides. Then she tugs at her hair, furiously tucking loose strands behind her ears. I can't recall a time – even last night – When I've seen Hermione Granger look so _un-together._ Not in appearance – I'm sure I could dwell for hours on how that's just fine. But in manner. She seems as if she's been shredded and put together by a clumsy child using second hand Spellotape.

"I needed to talk to you but you wouldn't see me – and I don't blame you. But I still needed to see you, so I waited. I hoped you'd come out sooner. I've been there since eleven, once I managed to get past that bloody Welcome Witch," she scowls, her eyes darting everywhere and her words coming out as one big stream of consciousness.

"I've been busy," I reply coolly.

"Thought you had. You had an imperturbable charm on your door. So it was senseless to knock. I worked that out after a couple of people knocked and left with no answer," she shrugs, looking increasingly agitated.

"Yes. I do," I swallow. This is making me uncomfortable on hence before unknown levels.

And nothing. The clock ticks merrily along and the world outside of this office has completely gone.

Hesitantly, I lift my head to look at her, my gaze connecting with hers. She stares at me, open mouthed, apparently lost for words. And without warning, she rushes at me, throwing her arms around my neck and burying her face in the crook of my neck.

Here I stand, completely lost, arms flailing at my sides but she just grips me even tighter. She isn't crying, she isn't anything. She's just standing. Holding me. And I fear she'll never let go.

And I fear she will.

I relent. I carefully, strategically place my arms around her body. Her hold slackens a little, not to let go. Just to relax. Knowing that I'm not going to throw her from me.

I don't want to speak. And I certainly don't want her to. I really could be satisfied standing in this awkward, warm embrace for the long, foreseeable future.

Thank Merlin there are thick folds of robe which separate my hands from her form. If my hand was touching her flesh, I'd surely crumble.

We've been standing closely like this for what seems like hours. We could have been melded together. Just standing; holding. Any shift would feel completely foreign, like an arm being ripped from my torso.

She moves and I stand completely still, as if confronted with a basilisk. Careful not to make the slightest move for fear of the deadly strike.

Her cheek, hot and soft, grazes against me, pulling back to look at me. Her hand trails from around my neck to cup my chin.

She looks up at me, silently, half-heartedly asking for permission. After several moments of me giving no response one way or the other, she tilts her head and edges her lips closer to mine.

Before they touch, she whispers gently, "I'm sorry."

Somehow, the breath of these words awakes me from a deep trance.

She moves a fraction forward, her eyes fluttering closed, nearly kissing me.

Before I push her shoulders back. Her eyelids fly open. There is an unmistakeable flash of anger there.

Angry because I won't kiss her? Angry because she feels rejected? Angry because I refuse to carry on with this charade?

She juts out her chin defiantly and moves to kiss me again, a hand in my hair. Again, I stop her. Both of her hands are at the side of my face, not gripping; caressing. Trying to lure me with soft touch and silent promises.

I shake my head slightly. No. _No._

My voice is caught inside my chest. Wedged between my sense of self preservation and the last shred of conscience I have left.

Her thumb runs over my lips, tracing them delicately. She studies them hungrily. Fascinated as if never before had she seen my mouth up close. She looks to me, pleads desperately with her eyes. She thinks I will crumble. She thinks I yield to her demands. She thinks I must surrender myself completely.

Because in that moment, she had surrendered herself totally to my mercy as she begs me for this one act.

I employ the last of my strength; That hateful, loathed piece of moral decency left inside and try to push her away further.

She will not budge. She will not let me refuse.

Her eyes search mine. _Please._

I am so close to losing myself. The only thing tethering me to this world is the thought that I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to be miserable and a shadow of the person I could be. I want to live. I want to kiss someone _not_ marrying my brother in less than a week. I want to love and be loved and feel no shame or guilt in it.

These are all pretty ideals I'm trying to cling to. Of course, there's nothing more I _need_ than to descend my mouth upon Hermione's and kiss her tenderly.

Oh God, I want to.

She knows I want to. Every part of me screams my desire for her. She can feel that.

She smiles softly. Sadly. She feels my resolve weaken. She herself looks conflicted to the point of physical pain as she draws her eyes away from mine.

She strokes my hair and traces her fingertips over my features.

_This cannot go on._

"What?" she blinks, her smile fading fast.

I clear my throat and have the strangest feeling I've just spoken aloud. "This can't go on," I repeat, a little louder. Her hands slacken and fall from my face. Still her body is pressed tightly against mine.

"No more," I whisper hoarsely. "No more."

With those two words, she jumps back from me as if bitten. She flashes me a final look, full of humiliation and horror. And then she runs from me, from the office, slamming the door as she leaves.

The sound echoes in my ears, contributing to the sound of blood furiously pumping. My skin screaming as the warmth dissipates. My lungs struggle to recoup the breath I've been holding. My head pounding as it fills with her words. My heart aching as it accepts defeat.

I slide down the wall. Full collapse. And I don't stir for hours.

There's only one person working overtime in the Department of Magical Cooperation. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the only one working overtime in the whole bloody Ministry. To be honest, I've sure he doesn't even consider it overtime – just getting a head start, giving all he can give.

Regardless, I'm quite thankful he's still going at this hour as I knock softly on his door.

He looks up immediately, surprised to see anyone still here, let alone his little sister.

"Ginny. Come in. What're you doing here?" Percy asks quietly, as if afraid to disturb the peace and quiet he treasures.

"Thinking. I was thinking," I mumble, stumbling slightly as I shift myself into the chair opposite his desk.

"Are you all right?" he asks, quite concerned. He's clearly noticed my dishevelled demeanour and an expression that says 'I'm far from OK.'

"Perce. What's the deal with the Masters Project job? There's plenty, right? Plenty work?" I ask, looking up at him sharply.

"Yes," he says slowly, still surveying the damage. "There are. I posted a finalised jobs list in both our departments with application deadline this Wednesday."

Ah Percy, still reliably business-like. Bill or Charlie wouldn't have told me a thing until they'd squashed their baby sister in a fierce hug and forced the truth out of me. But Percy is the brother I need right now.

"Right. Brilliant," I nod, looking absently around his office. It's so clean and organised. Everything colour coded and in its proper place. There's a glint of metal over on his bookcase… Yes, that's both his Prefect and Head Boy badges there. "What do you think I should go for?"

He looks slightly flustered, as this is the first time any member of our family has come to him for advice; career or otherwise.

"Well. Erm… I'm the director of the Home Committee, here in the Ministry. There are some good jobs in collation and analysis of data collected by the Foreign Committee. A bit of a pay rise and the opportunity to—"

"And what about in the Foreign Committee?" I interrupt, looking straight at him.

"You know that would be…" he trails off, waving his hand in the air as if to signify 'Away'.

"In Europe, yes. I guessed the Foreign Committee would be somewhere, y'know, foreign," I try to smile. But fail miserably.

"Well. If you were going in that direction," he starts, eyeing me carefully. "Then there are plenty of very interesting positions. Given your experience, I'd suggest something in the Academy Evaluation sector, but—"

"Is that a low rung, rubbish, paper-pushing job in a sweaty office, then?" I joke. "Y'know, just at my level."

"No, Ginny!" he yelps, looking mildly offended. Yet somehow, he manages to transform into pompous in a manner of seconds. "I was going to suggest you apply for Director or Liaison of that department, _actually._ "

Then he starts to look slightly red-faced. Forgetting everything, I beam at him.

"Thanks, Perce. Nice you have confidence in me."

"Well. Yes," he mumbles, scratching his head. "Anyway, Ginny, I don't think it would suit you. As much as you would be brill— _OK_ at the job. It involves inspecting every Academy in Europe, spending a few months in each country at a time. You would be away for a few years and—"

"Nope. That sounds like the one," I nod firmly, moving to stand up. This is it. This is exactly the exit plan I wanted.

"What about Harry? And your friends here?" Percy asks, furrowing his brow. He knows it's not something that would ever hold him back from a career opportunity but I don't think he ever expected it of me. "Don't you think you would—"

"No, Perce," I shake my head firmly. "This is the one for me."

I feel his eyes on my back as I turn to exit.

"Ginny. Is there something going on? Do you… Want to… _talk_ about it?" he swallows thickly, clearly unnerved by the prospect. But bravo for trying big brother.

"Nope. Nothing at all," I tell him over my shoulder.

"Sure?"

"You'll get my application first thing in the morning."


	9. Chapter 9

' _What the Hell was I thinking? What am I_ doing _?'_

 

_Hermione slammed the door behind her, leaving Ginny on the other side, and ran towards the lift. She clamped a hand over her mouth and suppressed even the slightest noise. For several long moments until the lift doors closed on the Department of Education and Examination, Hermione did not dare to breathe._

_Once she felt the lift shudder to life, taking her back to the Atrium, she let out a sore sob that had been strangling her throat. She buried her face into a back corner, hot tears spilling steadily and tried her level best to control herself._

' _Control? Where was control when I stormed in here at ten this morning? Where was_ _ **I**_ _when I waited for all day? Where was control when I—'_

_The automated witch voice informed her that the lift had arrived at the atrium as the doors slid open. Hesitantly, Hermione left her corner and peered out, praying for a deserted lobby._

_She was disappointed as some stragglers remained behind. Some waited for others as they glanced impatiently at their watches. Some quick walked to the fireplaces. Some stood, engaged in chat with work colleagues._

_She wiped her eyes furiously and cleared her throat. She pulled her robes around her, strode forward onto the concourse and hoped her hair would shield her face from anyone that may possibly recognise her._

_She was in luck and made it to the fireplace, grabbed a handful of floo powder and vanished in a flash of fire._

_Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace at home and cast her outer robes carelessly to the floor. Pausing for a moment, she listened to the sounds of the house. Slowly exhaling, she concluded that Ron wasn't home._

_She slumped down on the sofa, immediately reaching for the patchwork quilt she had slept under last night. She wrapped it around her shoulders and curled into a ball._

_She stared blankly across at the empty fireplace and tried to work out what on earth had actually just happened._

_The smell of Ginny had intoxicated her, taken her out of herself, if only for a short while. Thinking of her, inhaling her scent, remembering the soft lips on hers, there was no other thought in Hermione's mind than to run._

_For a few hours, she stopped thinking and fearing and evaluating the possible consequences. For once, she had followed her most immediate impulses. Following the commands of her instincts was both liberating and terrifying. But she did so. In the midst of this horrible situation, it was refreshingly simple to just do as she was told without question._

I have to see her. I must see her. If I don't, I will surely forget what it is to feel like _that_ …

_And that's why for six hours, Hermione did not leave the chair she had been waiting in. Her gaze could not be torn away from Ginny's door. Her thoughts could not be swayed from the enrapturing red head mere feet away, just out of sight. She didn't allow her mind to wander to Ron, or Harry, or the wedding. She wouldn't entertain any other notion apart from waiting for the moment when Ginny would walk out of that door._

_Her stomach lurched as she thought of Ginny. She pictured her in the way she always did but never acknowledged consciously. She instantly felt soothed; this image was a welcome respite for her busy mind._

_Hermione buried her face in the old sofa cushions, groaning in anguish as Ginny's words resonated in her mind._

No more. No more.

_Ginny was done. Whatever this was, it was done._

_It ached, the memory actually caused Hermione to ache as she lay on the sofa in her and Ron's house, with his mothers patchwork quilt pulled tightly over her._

_Whatever was happening to her, Hermione couldn't control herself anymore. That much was evident. It was too forceful, too wilful to listen to her directives. It shook her and spun her, caused her to replace logic and restraint with powerful outbursts of overwhelming desire and lunacy._

" _Because that's what this is," Hermione uttered quietly. "Foolish lunacy."_

_It was becoming more difficult to reconcile the two halves of herself; her loss of control over the past few hours frightened her more than any manic Death Eater ever had._

_If she could carve out the part of her heart that Ginny Weasley had infected, she could go on living in ignorant, peaceful bliss._

_The front door slammed, awakening her from her thoughts. She heard two sets of footsteps in the hall._

" _So don't tell Ginny where I've gone, if you see her. All right?"_

_It was Harry, he'd come home with Ron._

" _Yeah, fine. Not a problem, mate. Doubt I'll see her anyway. S'Not as if she comes round for tea 'n stuff. But when you get back, I'm sure she'll be different."_

' _What are they talking about?' Hermione wondered as she pressed her hand over her mouth and didn't dare move from her lying position._

" _Hope so."_

' _Harry sounded happy. He's leaving Ginny and he sounds happy?' Hermione puzzled._

_At this point, both men entered the living room and saw Hermione in a bundle of patchwork on the couch._

" _I… I didn't know you were in, Hermione," Ron mumbled. He shot Harry a worried glance._

" _Not for long," Hermione said quietly, yawning and feigning that she had just awoken._

" _Harry's… Harry's just come to use our Floo. You know he and Ginny can't have one at theirs," Ron nodded towards the fireplace nervously. "That's cool, right?"_

" _Course it is," Hermione brushed off, standing up._

" _Right then," Harry breathed out, acutely aware of the strange atmosphere in the room. "I'll be off. And I'll owl you later tonight, Ron. About your Bachelors party."_

" _Brilliant," Ron grinned as he watched Harry step into the fireplace and disappear in a puff of green flame and smoke._

" _Where was he off to?" Hermione asked lightly, trying not to sound too suspicious._

" _Pfft, I dunno, do I?" Ron replied, looking away._

" _Are he and Ginny…" Hermione trailed off._

" _Dunno," Ron shrugged, avoiding her eyes as he padded to the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?"_

" _I'm not hungry," Hermione called through as she sat down on the sofa, her mind reeling._

_-_

Half of me expects Harry to be standing in the living room when I get home, flowers in hand, ready to spew apologies like he always does when we argue. He's always the one to crack. He can't stand being in a fight for longer than a day.

I hate that.

Half of me hopes he's decided not to put up with my crap anymore and has left.

I'd probably hate that too: He'd be letting me off the hook. He doesn't deserve to be the one who leaves. The Bad Guy. He's not that.

Opening the door to our flat, he's definitely no where in sight. Rushing to his cupboard, I see all his clothes and things are still here. So he hasn't left. He's just not here.

I am so relieved. All day I've been gearing up for this horrible confessional; I so needed to have this conversation with him tonight.

But then Hermione happened. That brief tornado of confusion and passion blew into my office; apologised, tried to kiss me and was sent running when I refused her.

I think I'm still shaking in the aftermath.

I can't think properly, let alone explain this all to Harry in clear, full words.

My heart is racing, my mind won't let me rest.

The only thing I could focus on is this stupid application. The boredom will numb me, the monotonous questions will lull me and I'll have some peace.

And some way out of this all.

I smooth the multi-paged document against Harry's writing desk – he always seems to bring work home with him whereas I never do. It looks simple enough: dull, but simple.

From scraping around in the drawer I find a quill. I ink it and begin to write.

-

_The sun broke through the un-curtained windows in Ron and Hermione's bedroom, the light spilling over Hermione's face._

_He rubbed her shoulder with his free hand. She winced as his fingers worked the taut muscles._

" _Somebody's tense," he remarked._

" _What do you expect?" she mumbled, wincing again._

" _Hey. I know a good way to release stress," Ron grinned, wiggling an eyebrow. He slid an arm around her waist and pulled himself close to her back. "With all this rubbish planning crap, we've hardly had any 'us' time."_

" _We're together all the time Ron," Hermione replied softly, squashing her face into the pillow as Ron kissed her neck lightly, his hands tracing the skin under her pyjamas._

" _You're not planning to wait until our wedding night, are you?" Ron asked, feigning horror. "It doesn't count if you've done it before, y'know."_

" _I know that," she bit back._

" _So what's the matter? Don't tell me you've gone off me already?" Ron joked, trying to keep the atmosphere light._

" _There are a million different things on my mind at the minute, Ronald and, actually, none of them include sex with you when I have so much to get done," Hermione said shrilly._

" _All right, OK, just tell me you have a head ache or whatever," Ron shrugged, attempting to mask his hurt at rejection. He slid out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown._

" _Ron, don't be a child," she scolded, sitting up to face him._

" _I'm not," he said, holding his hands up. "Not being a child. It's too early for a lecture so I'm going for a shower. We can catch up over breakfast if you want. Unless you're too busy with your 'million things to get done.'"_

_He turned and walked off to the bathroom, leaving Hermione with her head buried in her knees._

' _Barely awake for five minute and already I'm picking fights with him.' She groaned at the thought. 'Why am I punishing him?'_

_-_

The look on Percy's face when I handed him the application first thing this morning – before _he'd_ gotten in and taken his coat off – was priceless. And a bit unsettling. He looked amazed at first that I'd followed through and this wasn't a silly impulse spurred on by an argument with Harry or a sudden whim. Then he gave me a look of complete helplessness.

Like he knew _why_ I'm running away.

Not running away. Just moving: Moving on, to a different country with better climate, exciting cultures and a _purpose_. Somewhere I can rest and be invigorated. Somewhere in which people don't automatically recognise me by my hair and freckles.

It's safe to say that I've gotten no work done before lunchtime as I cannot stop day dreaming about this new opportunity ahead of me. I wonder if any of the places I'll go to will be beside the sea? I hope so. I could stare at the ocean for hours.

-

_Ron and Harry were sitting on the front steps of Ron and Hermione's countryside house surveying over the landscape, drinking from bottles of pixie-brewed mead._

" _Been thinking – That bit of grass and bushes over there. You can see it from the kitchen," Ron pointed out._

" _Yeah, so? You trying to make a point there?" Harry sighed, leaning back on his elbows._

" _If you let me finish. Git," Ron mumbled out the side of his mouth. "I'm going to level it and put in a swing set. Maybe a slide or something. Sand pit. That sort of stuff."_

" _Ron, you're about to get married – time to stop playing in the sand, eh?"_

" _Not for me, twat," Ron smiled, watching the darkening sky. "For Ron junior and that. Like I said, you can see it from the kitchen. Perfect. That way-"_

" _That way when Hermione's doing the dishes, the washing and the dusting, she can keep an eye on the kids as well? Lazy arse," Harry snickered._

" _I meant it's easier to shout them in for their tea, but whatever," Ron told him, attempting to keep his face as composed as possible._

" _Yeah right," Harry laughed with his best friend. He stopped suddenly, looking up curiously. "Hey – Are you trying to tell me something here? I know honeymoon's traditionally supposed to be the time to get that underway so you've jumped the gun a bit. Or Hermione has."_

" _Shut up," Ron smirked, smacking Harry's forehead._

" _Hey!" Harry yelped, pushing Ron away. "That's a free one."_

" _Thanks," Ron grinned. "You know, I'm really not scared about the wedding. I'm really fine with it all. Looking forward to it."_

" _Think I'll be petrified. Not for_ your _wedding, I mean. Obviously I'm looking forward to that."_

" _Hermione's pretty petrified," Ron remarked coolly, taking a swig from his bottle._

" _Yeah. It is a bit obvious," Harry replied quietly._

" _It's all right though. I'm not worried," Ron told him honestly. "I'm calm right now but the second we're actually married I'll be a wreck. It's a helluva lot. I can be a good boyfriend, good fiancé but I haven't the first fucking clue how to be a good husband. It's exciting. But terrifying. My thinking is, seeing as the world's all about balanced opposites, Hermione will be the strong, calm, un-terrified one. She'll teach me how to be a good husband and dad. So she can be scared witless now but as soon that ring's on her finger she'll be the one propping me up."_

" _I'm not sure if that's a bit sad, Ron. Or maybe a bit nice."_

" _I think it's nice," Ron smiled, scuffing his heel on the grass._

" _Do you think I'm right?" Harry asked suddenly._

" _About what?"_

" _Ginny. Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?"_

" _You can't ask me that stuff about my sister, Harry," Ron said, screwing his face up._

" _I know. But who else am I gonna talk to?" Harry sulked, finishing his mead._

" _Ginny."_

_-_

"You're home," I call to Harry, who's peering out the window anxiously. He turns to face me, hands in his pockets.

"I am home," he reiterates, coming to greet me with a kiss on the cheek. "How was work?"

"Usual. Fine."

"Good. So was mine," he grins, rubbing my arms.

"Harry, I need to talk to you," I mumble quietly, avoiding his eyes.

"Good, cause I need to talk to you too," Harry replies, pulling me to his chest and holding onto me tightly.

"I have to say this quickly before I lose—"

"Can I go first?" he asks quickly, pulling away.

"I-?"

"I think what I might have to say has something to do with what you might be about to say," he tells me cryptically.

"How-?"

"OK," he nods eagerly. "I'll go first then."

"Harry—"

_HARRY!_ I am trying to say something here!

"Ginny, please let me finish because honestly, I won't be able to keep it in if you go first and I'll end up blurting it out randomly in some high pitched squawk and you'll look at me like I'm insane and it just won't be the moment I hoped for," he spews.

I nod. Continue Harry, but quickly. Otherwise I might end up squawking my own confession at you.

"Ginny, we've been together for ages now. Um," he trails off, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to read from the inside of his head. He takes my hands and leads me to the couch. "And we live together. And we love each other. And I can't see myself living and loving anyone else in this world."

I swallow and watch him smiling and screwing his face up in concentration.

"This isn't very impressive, is it?" he laughs nervously. He takes a deep breath and starts again. "When I was eleven, I found out that magic existed. I found out that I was a wizard and I was going away to study with people just like me at Hogwarts. This was the best revelation in my life up to that point. Which, honestly, wasn't entirely a shocker. I mean, I had a crappy life up until then. So I went to Hogwarts and I met Ron. And Ron led me to you.

"When I was sixteen, there was a revelation to usurp even all the Hogwarts, magic, wizard stuff. I kissed you. In the Gryffindor common room. With everyone watching us. And I discovered there was a second kind of magic even better than the first. I loved you since I kissed you and maybe before then. I always will love you Ginny. And I want to marry you."

Don't move. Don't speak. Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe it'll go away.

Like being confronted with a bear. Play dead.

A flash of light glints from something in his hand. I think I will actually have to play dead.

_Take it back, take it back, take it back._

"I'm asking," Harry clears his throat and slips from the couch beside me to the ground. He props himself up one knee and grasps my hands tightly. "I'm asking if you'll be my wife. Will you marry me?"

This is not real.


	10. Chapter 10

_"Will you marry me?"_

 

"Harry…" I murmur. I stare intently at the ceiling trying to make sure those waiting tears don't fall. Not tears of happiness, joy, shock or surprise.

Frustration. Impatience. Desperation.

How did it come to this?

I think I've lost time. I'm sure it got away from me somehow. An hour there. Half a day there. Slipped away from me so that I wouldn't notice. Hurtling onwards to this impossible situation: Like the very essence of time conspired against me. To punish me. To grab me by the throat, shake me and yell 'It's getting bloody serious now, isn't it? Think you better do something, eh?'

"Ginny, are you crying?" Harry asks softly. "Are you happy? Overwhelmed? Or-Or is the ring? Do you not like the ring?"

Merlin's sake, Harry, I haven't even seen the ring! That sliver of light told me all I needed to know about that ring. I do not want to look at the fucking ring.

"Gin?"

You back a great, dirty rat into a corner and it'll jump for your throat. Bite you at the weakest point to cause maximum damage. Fred told me that when I was a kid. Terrified me. I almost developed a phobia of corners in case I accidentally trapped something there that would hurt me. I spent the best part of my formative years walking in careful circles.

Now I'm in the corner and I don't have the heart to go for the jugular.

This just keeps getting deeper and deeper and I don't know how much longer I can go on breathing without saying anything. But I don't know how many more lying words I can manage. I'm drowning in these twisted lies and this false life. It would be justified if it was just me sinking to the bottom but I've caught hold of Harry's cuff and I'm dragging him to the murky bottom as well.

It's time to push for the surface.

"Harry, I—"

The sight before me pains me inside and out. Harry, on his knees, holding out a beautiful ring, his face shining with hope.

I'll just suck in enough air to survive and return to the depths I'm so accustomed to.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be at my mum's after work," I fake-gasp as I fake-clasp my hand to my forehead in fake-realisation.

"O-Oh," he stutters, pulling himself off his knees. "And you—"

"I need to go now. There's so much to do for the wedding," I explain convincingly. "I promised. I'm sorry. Can we pick this up later?"

Merlin. I'm helping mum plan the wedding now? How does this crap fall out of my mouth with the greatest of ease?

"Um, sure, whatever you need."

"Great," I smile, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll see you Thursday then, yeah? For the rehearsal dinner?"

Which means I better have an answer or an explanation or a better bloody excuse by Thursday. I should just buy my own personal shovel; good for twenty-four hour hole digging.

I think the desperate sight of him proposing marriage to me is having a serious effect on my lying capabilities. I rush through to the bedroom to shove some clothes in a holdall for the next few nights. I'm going to the Burrow. How the Hell did this happen? What happened to resolve? What happened to not going at any cost?

"We could meet tomorrow couldn't we?" he asks softly as he watches me pack. "I'll come to your mum's after work. We could talk and—"

"Can't," I reply. "Dress fitting, isn't it?"

Some one please stop me. Smother my voice with a charm, steal it with a potion, cast the Avada Kedavra behind my back – Anything to stop this mess of my own making.

"Dress fitting?" he repeats quizzically. "You're going to be the bridesmaid?"

_No_

"Yes."

I wish to die.

Maybe it's not too late to play dead; drop to the floor, close my eyes, slow my breathing and let him walk away.

"When did you decide that?" he asks, bemused.

"My mum convinced me." Another lie, another foot deeper underground.

"She did, did she?"

I have to get away before I suggest we have a double wedding with Ron and Hermione. What the Hell is he doing to me?

-

" _That's us nearly got everyone's RSVP's back," Ron smiled, flopping onto the sofa next to Hermione. She was reading a muggle novel, her brow furrowed, and appeared not to be listening to him._

" _Great," she murmured, turning a well worn page._

" _I didn't know we sent one to Katie Bell," Ron mused, turning over the invite in his hand._

" _We didn't, I did. Yesterday," Hermione replied quietly._

" _Yeah? I didn't know you were close with her," Ron replied, eyebrows raised._

" _I'm not really," Hermione replied cautiously, her sight still fixed on the pages on front of her. "I met her a few days ago. And she got so excited over the wedding I thought it'd be rude not to invite her."_

" _Oh. Right. I don't mind, I'm not getting on at you." Ron scratched his head. "Katie's always been really nice to everyone. I see she's got Oliver Wood as her plus one. I heard something about them going out. Where did you meet her, then?"_

" _Just a pub, out."_

" _Can I guess when it was you went to a pub?" Ron asked quietly._

" _If you like," Hermione sniffed, trying to remain as rigid as possible._

" _Right. Just forget it then," he mumbled, thumbing through some more replies. "Alicia Spinnet? You invited Alicia? When did you see her?"_

" _Same time as Katie Bell. Is that a problem?" Hermione asked coldly, still not looking up._

" _Well, neither of us really knew her, did we? She was older and not that social. Bit of a weirdo actually. Do you remember the rumour about her and Patricia Stimpson? Fred reckoned he saw them at it in the—"_

" _Yes, very good, Ron. You can remember gossip from years ago. Nice to know I'm marrying a man with such a keen memory!" Hermione snapped, sitting briskly up on the sofa and glaring at him._

" _Bloody Hell, Hermione," Ron grumped as his fiancée pushed off the sofa beside him to escape to the kitchen. "It was only a bit of fun."_

" _Fun?" Hermione echoed, coming back through to stand in front of him. "You think it was much fun for her to have the entire House, the entire school, gawping at her and gossiping about her because of something which – at the end of the day – is nobodies business but her own?"_

" _Hermione. That's school. That's being a teenager," Ron shrugged, flabbergasted at why Hermione had taken such umbrage with this. "Folk talk. They gossip. They poke fun at. It's just what happens."_

" _Oh, I'd forgotten that it's perfectly acceptable behaviour to belittle anyone remotely different in the world according to Ron Weasley. And you're not a teenager now, remember? Yet you're still 'having fun' at someone else's expense?"_

" _Why the Hell do you_ care _?" Ron asked through gritted teeth. "You were probably like the rest of us – gossiping about what you'd heard."_

" _I certainly was not!" Hermione snorted indignantly._

" _Sure. So you let that whole scandal pass you by because it wasn't 'p.c.' or whatever your muggles call it—"_

"My muggles _?" Hermione near screamed. "Did you mean to say that? Or Mudblood, Ron?"_

" _Now you're just fucking hysterical," Ron shouted, standing up to match her. That word always ignited such a rage in him. "You know I would never dare say – or think that word. To you, or anyone else. You're just making up reasons to be angry with me now! You're fighting with me over fucking Alicia Spinnet?!"_

" _Yes, I am!" Hermione spluttered. "Alicia's coming to the wedding and she can bring a boyfriend, a girlfriend or the Giant fucking Squid from the bloody lake and you won't say a word about it!"_

" _Who said I would? I'm not a bloody bigot, Hermione. And I'd've hoped that you out of anyone should know that," Ron told her fiercely, jabbing a finger in her face._

_When Hermione didn't come back with a retort and her face crumpled as she realised how aggressive and accusatory she'd been, Ron just felt angrier._

" _And I'm not staying here to have another pointless fight so you can insult me with this shit for no bloody reason," Ron sneered. He grabbed the coat that was hanging over the chair and walked to the door. "You can stay here and fucking tear lumps out me all on your own."_

_Hermione shuddered as the front door rattled in its frame as Ron slammed it behind him._

_-_

It was too late to wake Mum when I got in last night. No doubt she'll be surprised though – second time in a week I go to ground in my childhood home.

So when she comes in my room early in the morning with an armful of clean bed sheets, I don't blame her for screaming.

"Merlin, Ginny! Where did you come from?" she demands, holding her chest.

"Sorry," I mumble, sitting up and still half asleep. "Last night. Didn't want to wake you."

"I don't know what you're playing at, Ginny. Creeping in here at the dead of night. Are you and Harry... fighting?" she asks tactfully.

"Harry and I…" I mutter, pushing my bed head back from my face.

"I mean, you keep running over here and won't talk about it. And Ron won't talk about what Harry's telling him—" Mum sighs. We both sit in silence – Her full well expecting me to crack and me hoping she'll bugger off until I'm fully awake. I'm not a fan of being interrogated half-awake. I feel very vulnerable.

The waiting game is interrupted by two Owls appearing at the bedroom window. One brown – looks like Ron's. And the other – Shit. Mine and Harry's.

"I know who they are," my Mum hums gently as she crosses to the window to let them hop in. She removes both the letters – one looking a bit bumpy in the middle. She reads the names on both and hands the bumpy one to me. That's a bit disconcerting.

"Ron's probably been up early making plans," Mum says aloud although I don't think she's specifically talking to me. She opens it and reads it in the time I take just to stare at Harry's handwriting on the front.

"Oh, Ginny!" she exclaims, turning to me with a beaming face.

_Oh fuck, what?_

"Ron says you've decided to be the bridesmaid after all!" she gushes, pulling me into a tight hug which I can't quite respond to.

"What?"

She pulls back, looking at the letter again. "He says Harry Owled him last night to tell him you were coming home for the dress fitting today and to help me with the preparations! Ginny, I knew you'd come round!"

I squint awkwardly, feeling tiny and surely looking like Professor Flitwick when confronted with an Ogre. How can I tell my mother it's all been a big misunderstanding and that I lied to Harry to get out of making a certain decision—

"He also says you have some news," she reads quizzically. "You and Harry have some news?"

"We do?" I ask weakly, absent-mindedly tearing open the letter. As I do, a small glinting object falls from the envelope onto the bedspread.

"Apparently you do!" Mum half-shrieks, pointing to this small instrument of Hell in my lap.

I pick up that little ring and look at the few scribbled words accompanying it.

_Thought you should have this while you decide – Something to remind you of what I'm offering,_

_Love, Harry._

"Oh Ginny, you're getting married!" Mum exclaims, now crying openly.

Fuck me.

-

" _I'm sure Ginny and Harry will be much more organised," Molly remarked, inspecting the hem of Hermione's dress._

" _I don't think they're quite there yet, Molly," Hermione replied quietly._

" _She hasn't said to you?" Molly asked, looking up in surprise._

" _Said what?"_

" _He proposed! Harry's asked her to marry him," she beamed. Hermione stood frozen and stared at her own reflection. Subconsciously, her fingertips scratched down her the folds of her dress. She felt the white-ness of the dress overwhelm her senses until it was all she could see. Like the Antarctic explorers she'd been fascinated with as a young girl. So much snow that after a while you go blind. You can't distinguish anything else from blankness. White-Out._

" _Oh, fantastic," Hermione said statically, still transfixed by her own reflection._

" _Ginny? Are you coming out of there? I need to see the dress_ on, _" Molly urged._

_-_

"Minute, mum!" I call back to her. This is my worst fucking nightmare. The colour's not too bad and the dress fits nicely. But I am standing in the dress which makes me part of the wedding I would have robbed, murdered, begged and cried to get out of.

But I'm here. In a satin blue dress. All because of bloody Harry and his bloody question which sent me running for the nearest bomb shelter.

"Ginny!"

"Right, Mum," I mumble, slipping out of the bathroom.

When I see Hermione in that big white dress - the final costume for her Tragedy of Errors - I want to hit something, or someone.

I catch Hermione's eye and it looks like she's thinking the very same thing. That look scares me in ways I'll probably dream about for nights to come.

"I need air," she says through gritted teeth, swishing the dress out of my mum's grasp and pushing past me roughly.

"You didn't tell her," my mum points out, as if _that_ is supposed to be an explanation for the human disaster that is Hermione Granger.

"What, Mum?"

" _Your_ wedding," she smiles uncontrollably. "She's probably annoyed you didn't tell her that Harry proposed."

"Seriously, mum?" The demented cow just smiles. Not a fucking clue. "Right," I sigh, hitching up my skirt and taking off after her.

She's at the bottom of the garden heading for the woods before I catch up to her. That dress seemingly doesn't affect her ability to run away.

"Hermione you need to go back. Mum'll have a bloody fit if you ruin the dress," I yell at her, exasperated, but doing my best to remain detached.

"And?" Hermione yells back, pulling out of my grip and darting between the trees.

I could walk away. I need to walk away. But I feel I have no chance but to follow.

Pushing through the brush and springy branches, I see Hermione in the middle of a small clearing. She's doing something, but I can't see what.

Emerging from the shrub, I see clearly now. And I'm completely speechless.

There stands Hermione, bare feet on the mossy green forest floor with nothing on but her underwear. She stands over her wedding dress, with her wand pointed. Her hand is shaking, her face is red and she looks ready to let a stream of curse words loose that would make the Twins blush.

But only one leaves her lips.

" _Incendio!"_ she cries. And in that instant (as Hermione Granger is the last person alive who would miscast) the entire dress is engulfed. I can't stop watching the dancing flames as they illuminate her slightly relieved features. It isn't long – or perhaps time has skipped on me again – until the entire beautiful, hand-made gown is burned to cinders.

She looks up at me over the dying embers. That slightly crazy expression isn't lost but she looks at me like I'm the only very person she wanted to see in these woods.

"Harry asked you," she says clearly and pointedly. She slips her wand underneath the fine lace of her wedding garter. I feel slightly easier knowing it's sheathed for the time being.

"He did," I admit.

"What did you say?"

I open and then close my mouth again.

"Well? Are you getting married or aren't you?" she asks haughtily.

"Surely a question I should ask you. Seeing as you've burned your bloody dress 'n all," I half sneer.

"Harry's not the One," she says quietly, stepping delicately over the ashes of her wedding dress and edging closer to me.

"And I don't believe in 'One's'," I reply, trying to shuffle back.

"No. You believe in the 'Two' and the 'Three' and the 'Fifteen'," Hermione tells me harshly. "Isn't that right?" Before I can answer, she presses on further. "It isn't, is it? That would imply serial fidelity. Faithful, you are not, Ginny Weasley," she says crisply, twigs crackling underfoot.

"And you are?" I scoff, my sweating palms sliding on the soft satin.

"You've cheated on everyone you've ever been with. Michael, Dean, Harry – I know for a fact."

Uncomfortable isn't the word. Neither is nervous. Something in her burned with the dress. Or perhaps the flames rose up in her.

"You-you call a couple of stupid kisses cheating?" I stammer, pushing backwards through a few stray branches.

I'm being hunted; stalked. She's out for blood. Not to wound – Just the Kill. It won't be long before I'm caught in a trap, metal jaws clamping around me and they'll be no escape.

"I know you've done more than that," she retorts. She comes closer still, her entire body tensed, though it's not her body I can focus on. I can't look at her fully, clad in just her underwear. If I did it would take more power than I have to tear myself away.

"No you don't," I nervously smile, licking my lips.

"Yes. I do," she smiles dangerously back.

"How?" I challenge, nothing else coming to mind at the moment.

"Water cooler gossip, funnily enough," she says, tilting her head to the side. Sizing up the prey. Not long left. "A few years ago from one of the women I work with. She just had to tell me about the red head she 'had' last night. I knew it was you before she did. I'm guessing you didn't dabble with magical women for much longer after that. Risky. You know how small the magic world is. Best stick with oblivious muggles."

"Muggles," I repeat softly, nodding slightly.

"So, how many? One a week? Two? I know Harry travels a lot. And he's too trusting to be suspicious," Hermione surmises. "Do you ever feel guilty?"

"Guilty?" I echo, clearing my throat. Another step backwards and I fall into a threaded cage of branches. It feels like they wind around me, holding me steadily upright but not letting me go.

And still Hermione advances.

To anyone who hasn't seen her like this, they would doubt Healer Granger ever could act like this. It's a unicorn's hair's breadth between being terrified or desired.

Her bare feet are dirty now, her toes sinking into the soft earth as she pushes ever onwards. A few feet away. I can almost taste her skin glittered with ash.

"I said: Do you ever feel guilty?"

"Guilty isn't a good enough word for what I'm feeling," I reply in a low voice.

"It isn't," she agrees, softening slightly. But still her fingers are like claws; elongated and ready to strike.

She reaches out her hand and for a moment I think she's going to tear me to pieces, pluck out my heart and dance in my blood. Instead she delicately touches her fingertips to my cheek and to my lips.

"You never cheated on me, though, did you?" she asks quietly.

The look I give her is all the validation that she needs.


	11. Chapter 11

It's there, with me sunken into a nest of tangled branches, Hermione's bare stomach resting against my body, my life's breath trapped inside my chest and her fingertips on my face that my mother saves me in the most unexpected way.

"Ginny! Hermione! Are you down there?"

Hermione's head sharply turns and she peers through the thick greenery to estimate exactly where my mother is. From the relaxing of her forehead, I'm guessing she's far enough away.

She turns and holds out her hand to me, seeing that I'm clearly having some difficulty extracting myself from the shrubs. I feel like that slightly ugly, awkward, gangly thirteen year old again; mud on her knees, Quidditch on the brain and looking more like her elder brothers than a proper girl.

I look at her hand, then at her. I realise the subtext of my look meanders along the lines of ' _I'm not fucking touching you, are you nuts?'_ but I can't help it. It doesn't seem to unnerve her, though. Her face is impassive; blank. As if the previous ten minutes evaporated into her abyss in which all the moments that happen between us that she cannot explain or rationalise reside.

When I don't take her hand (because any touch could transport us back into dangerous territory) she nervously uses it to push back her hair in an awkward way. I think it's then she realises that she is, in fact, half naked outside and in the presence of another. (And for my part, I try my very hardest, utmost, excruciating best not to stare, gaze, gawk, gawp, ogle or perv.) Her body shrinks and she walks further back from me and finds there's nothing to hide herself in. She's in the middle of an open clearing.

She releases her wand from under her wedding garter.

I flinch and for a second I am completely sure she's going to use it on me. Instead she points it in the direction of the house and mutters ' _Accio_ robes.' A few moments later her long black house robe flies through the air towards us like a headless, limbless ghost. It wraps itself around her and the furious pink colour begins to fade from Hermione's cheeks.

"How are you going to explain that?" I ask her softly, gesturing to the smouldering ash that was formerly her wedding dress. "You could say it you just found it that way? Or it was like that when you got it?"

She smiles slightly but doesn't look at me. She surveys over the remains and sighs.

Oh, _fuck._ Mum, the dress, the questions, the suspicions, the looks – _The_ look. The look with which Grindelwald would admit he'd been a very naughty boy indeed.

In desperation, an idea comes to me (not a great idea admittedly, but I did just escape a mauling from the creature that masquerades as Hermione) and I stoop down to scoop up a handful of earth. I advance towards her and now it's her who looks frightened.

I can't say that isn't slightly satisfying.

"Gnomes. Forest gnomes," I tell her clearly, smearing the handful down the side of her face. She shrieks and pushes me away.

"Gnomes threw mud over me?!" she says shrilly, trying to wipe it off before I catch her hand in midair.

"No," I tell her carefully. "Gnomes stole your dress."

"Gnomes. Stole my dress," she repeats, looking far from convinced and a little surer that I'm crazy.

"Yes," I nod, going forward to apply more mud before she catches my wrist.

"That's insane, Ginny. Gnomes don't steal dresses. Or anything for that matter!"

"No, they don't but Mum'll believe it," I explain. Her nails start to indent my flesh. Not in a sore way. It's quite pleasantly numb, actually. Before I let myself enjoy it, just a little, just for a moment, she realises how tightly she's holding me and quickly releases me.

"You're going to tell your mum that gnomes mugged me? She's not an idiot," she spits, backing away. I don't know if she's backing away from the mud or me.

"No. But she _hates_ Gnomes. _Hates_ them. The way most muggles hate the Post Office or electricity bills. Can't stand them. She blames them for everything."

"That's ridiculous," she retorts, her lips forming a small upward curve.

"May be. But she won't ask you another word about it," I say finitely.

She shakes her head, closes her eyes and steps forward. An open invitation, I do believe.

I'm careful not to touch her skin with my hand, keeping it safely separated by dirt. Careful not to look at her, eyes closed in an almost peaceful state. Careful not to appear too delicate, like caressing. Caressing would be very dangerous territory. I'll smear her in mud and grass, almost like a mask.

After painting her in mud, it's time for something I bit more authentic. Something a bit less hands on.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks in a small voice, her eyes still closed as I bend down to gather an armful of leaves.

"Because I don't want Mum to know you burned your dress," I tell her simply. "And besides, it's a little fun."

"Fun?" she repeats quizzically, opening her eyes. At that moment, I throw the bundle of leaves and twigs at her, mussing them into her hair. She wails my name through laughter like a child being picked on and takes two large handfuls of earth to sling at me in retaliation.

"No, no, it doesn't work if I'm muddy too!" I scream in fits of giggles.

"Well, we'll just tell her that I was in the _middle_ of being mugged by bloody _Gnomes_ when you came along. And they attacked you too." Two clumps of earth hit me in the chest and another one in the leg. "Those awful, nasty, horrid Gnomes!"

"You want to ruin this dress as well?" I ask her, dodging a spray of leaves. "Some things just don't _tergeo_!"

How true that is.

Before I can react she's got me in a sort of headlock and we're tumbling to the ground. She pushes leaves in my face and I hit her with mud on the side of her face. She screams in disgust and says she'll make me regret that.

And now we struggle for control; control of each other and control of ourselves. I don't know if it's because I want to submit or because she wants it more but she's winning. I'm ridiculously OK with her winning. Maybe I just need her uncomfortable heat against me. Maybe I'm not as resolute and noble as I wish to be.

Just as I try to escape, she tackles me around the waist and pushes me back to the ground. She's a lot stronger than she used to be. She pins my wrists above my head and slowly the laughter fades as we just… stay there. And stare.

I'm assuming she's thinking similar thoughts and feeling similar panic because that's exactly what shows on her face.

"Why do we always end up in the mud?" I sigh as she pushes off me.

"Because we do," she mutters. And she's changed again.

Another face of Hermione. She's had some small part of fun and now she regrets it. To make up for a moment of levity, she'll make herself miserable for the rest of the day.

"Let's go. You're going to be the one to explain this," she half-commands me. As if this was entirely my fault.

Like a dejected school child, I follow her through the shrubs and up from the depths of the garden. She marches ahead, indignant and clearly trying to erase any fleeting thoughts or feelings.

Mum's waiting for us at the back door. As soon she gets a clear view of us, she shrieks in horror and runs to meet us.

"What happened? Ginny what have _you done to your dress?_ Hermione why are you wearing your robe? Why are you both filthy? What on earth _happened?_ "

"Gnomes, mum. Bloody Gnomes," I shake my head, avoiding eye contact. She shudders and looks thoroughly disgruntled. "They took Hermione's dress."

She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat as she wraps her arms around Hermione's shoulders, assuming she needs comforting in the wake of this horrible crime.

"Bloody Gnomes," she mutters. "Bloody, bloody, _bloody_ gnomes."

We walk slowly and silently up to the house with Mum too horrified to say anything more.

From the corner of my eye, I could swear I see a small smile playing on Hermione's lips.

-

" _Have you packed your overnight bag, Gerald?" Alison Granger shouted up the stairs at her husband. He'd been up there a full thirty minutes without any noise to indicate he was doing anything productive._

_A patient minute went past with no reply. "Gerald!"_

" _What?"_

" _I said – Did you pack your bag?"_

" _What bag?"_

_With a sigh, Alison ascended the stairs and checked in the bathroom in the vain hope he had been jesting. When he wasn't there, she looked in their bedroom and then their en-suite. She peered into the study to find it empty and he wasn't in the guest room either. With another sigh, she pushed open the door of the room at the very end of the corridor to find him sitting on Hermione's bed._

" _What are you doing in here? You said you were going to pack your bathroom things," Alison asked him as he stared off into space. That wasn't entirely true. He was staring at Hermione's carefully arranged and most distinguished achievements cabinet._

_She softened and took a place next to her husband, perched on the edge of Hermione's bed._

_Amongst the varied ribbons, badges, prizes, trophies and report cards (Alison was sure that not many other daughters pinned up their primary school report cards) there were many artefacts and mementos from Hogwarts. Her prefect and Head Girl badges were, of course, the focal point of the display. On the wall to the right of her arrangement was a framed certificate declaring her 'Healer Hermione Granger'. From what Alison understood that was the magical equivalent of a Doctor and she'd never been prouder the day Hermione brought that home._

" _She wouldn't let me nail that to the wall, remember?" Gerald spoke up as he pointed to the very certificate. "The day she brought it home, she told me she could do it herself without putting holes in the walls."_

" _A Sticking spell, or something," Alison smiled. "Now the bloody thing will never come off."_

" _Even if a hurricane was to place itself over this very house," he sighed wistfully._

_She placed a hand over his. "Come on. We've got to get a move on."_

" _Yes. Because we couldn't possibly leave it to chance tomorrow morning. Not when Hermione could 'magic' anything out of the air that we'd forgotten in a hapless rush," he retorted as he shuffled off the bed and followed his wife to the bathroom._

_Alison pulled out his travelling toiletry bag and handed it to him, motioning that he was to make a start._

" _Well, we should be glad about Hermione's choices now. Magic's going to make this wedding a fraction of the price it should've been," Gerald remarked._

" _You know that her being a witch wasn't a decision she could make or unmake. She was born that way."_

" _I don't know how on earth two highly respected, normal, completely un-magical dental surgeons from Hertfordshire could produce a witch, anyway," Gerald said, picking up his shaving foam and shaking it to judge how much was left. "I thought it was genetics and bloodlines."_

" _I keep telling you to read that book," Alison reminded him, taking the can from his hand and dumping it in the bathroom bin. She pulled a new can from the cupboard underneath the sink._

" _Which one? Dummies Guide to Magic?" Gerald asked sarcastically, trying to choose which toothbrush to take with him. He had many different styles in both electric and manual to consider. His wife swatted his hand away, pulling out entirely new brushes still in their plastic wrapping._

" _No. It's the one I got last time Hermione took me to Diagon Alley. It's 'Muggles! So you've got a Witch in the family?'"_

_Gerald couldn't help scoffing as he folded his arms and let his wife pack his toiletry bag out of completely new products that she'd apparently bought for their stay at their future in-laws home._

" _I know the title's silly, but it's been really helpful. It would've been better if I'd gotten it while she was at school, or even before. One of Hermione's school friends' parents recommended it to me at her Graduation. It's got a great section on entering the Magical world and special occasions with a largely magical congregation like funerals or weddings," she rushed on, zipping up her husbands bag and depositing it into his arms._

" _So any special customs or handshakes, then?" he asked, amused._

" _No, don't be stupid. They're just like you and I. Just like Hermione. It just warns about things not to be alarmed about. You know: magical things. Enchanted objects, things that comes out of nowhere, spontaneously bursting confetti –"_

" _We sent our daughter to Hogwarts for seven years so she could learn how to make spontaneously bursting confetti? I'm so proud," he drawled, smiling._

_In truth, he liked winding his wife up, pretending he was more ignorant than he actually was. Of course he knew what was going to happen, what Hermione studied in Hogwarts and had an idea of what the Weasley's home might be like. When that Hogwarts acceptance letter first arrived he did more research into the magical world than his wife or daughter would ever know. There was no way he was going to be sending his only daughter, his beloved off into the unknown without knowing every detail he could get his hands on._

_His wife was the one who'd preferred to live in ignorance of the capabilities of their daughter. He thought she found it easier that way. She was proud – yes, supportive – of course but it certainly took her a number of years to adjust._

_When Hermione was little, she would sit in his dentist chair and point to every instrument asking what they did. When Gerald was finished informing his daughter she would go back along the line, repeating – often word for word – what he had just told her. At that moment, he indulged himself in the fantasy that his daughter might join their practice one day – or have a bigger, better one for herself. When accepting her admission to Hogwarts, he knew that dream had all but died. For who would want plaque and cavities when they had wands and dragons?_

_-_

Hermione and I - inches apart - undressing. It's a scenario that I think I used to dream of, I can't really remember. The twisted-ness of this week has completely obliterated any innocent teen fantasies I used to have. The only saving grace is the curtain which is shielding our bodies from the world and from each other. The dress maker constructed our separate, temporary makeshift cubicles for the dress-fitting and The Big Day.

She'll be back for final fitting tomorrow and have a final fit when she hears about the 'Gnome' debacle.

I shrug my dirty dress down to pool around my ankles and kick it away from me. Leaning against the opposite wall, I see the faint silhouette of Hermione's body standing motionless. She appears to be leaning on her sturdy wall, as well.

"Ginny?"

_Shit._ Eyes front and centre. Better yet, I'll turn and face the other wall.

Then again, if she saw me and guessed I was looking at her outline, she must have been doing the same.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Are you… are you marrying Harry?" she asks in a clear voice.

"Why do you ask?" I'm not trying to be cute and coy. I'm just trying to buy time.

"Ginny. Stop pissing about!" she snaps. Clearly cute or coy is not the order of the day.

"I didn't say 'yes', no."

"What?" she snorts.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Well, which is it? Did you say 'yes' or 'no'? Simple question, _Ginny_."

I hate when she stresses my name like that. Bloody makes me feel like I'm four again.

"I didn't say 'yes' or 'no', actually _Hermione._ So it's not a simple question."

"Oh don't speak in riddles, thinking you're being clever," she spits. If it's possible, her silhouette looks a lot angrier. I'm waiting for the bushy hair to turn into a mass of writhing snakes.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare do that," I drawl sarcastically, straightening up.

"Well, are you going to say yes?" she asks impatiently, her shadow arms presumably crossing in front of her body.

I open my mouth for a smart retort but one really isn't needed. It wouldn't be fair to be glib and hurtful about the question that Harry asked me so earnestly. I couldn't weaponise it against even her.

"No. No, of course I'm not going to say 'yes'," I reply softly. "I couldn't do worse to him."

"Well, good to know you have a conscience," she sniffs.

"What? You're no one to be judging me!"

"We're hardly the same, Ginny. You've shagged half of muggle London and probably quite a bit of Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade? Where did you get that? I'm hardly ever up there and the town's full of doddery old guys, shady characters, happily married folk and women as straight as broom handles."

"Well, I hardly think Alicia Spinnet would agree—"

"Are you bloody serious?" I half-scream, coming within an inch of the dividing curtain. "Before the other night, I hadn't seen her since school. Nor did I know about her. I'm sure this conversation would be a lot easier if you just admitted your raging jealousy."

"Come off it, Ginny," she scoffs and seems to completely ignore my last comment. "Everyone heard those rumours about her."

"You should just be thinking you're fucking lucky that you heard no rumours about you in school!" I retort tartly, stepping back from the curtain.

"Well I d—" She stops dead, her shape coming closer to the thin piece of material. Her voice drops to a deathly whisper, as if we were in a graveyard and she was afraid of breathing too loudly less she wake the dead. "What do you mean no rumours _that I heard_?"

"People knew what we did a couple times a month, Hermione," I shoot back. "Not what we _did_ but that we snuck out every other week. And where that knowledge is known, there's always going to be idle speculation."

"What?" she hisses, her hands at head height, bunching up and gripping the curtain.

"Come on. You used to dorm with Parvati and Lavender. What did you honestly expect? That your antics would go completely unnoticed because you were in the Head Girl's room? They found out from my dorm mates I was skipping out as well. They're gossiping bitches. It's their business to know stuff like this."

"Why didn't you ever tell me people knew?" she whimpers, pressing her top of head to the curtain and gripping it ever more tightly.

"Because I knew you'd react like this. And it's be over," I tell her quietly; honestly. "I wasn't ready for that. And it's not as if anyone was running about school calling you a dy- whatever."

She straightens up at the almost mention of _that_ word.

"Like they were doing to Alicia," she says simply.

"Yeah," I reply sympathetically, reaching forward to place a hand over her fist covered by thin, blue cotton. Her fist relaxes and her palm smoothes out against the material, filling the full length of mine.

"Harry and I are done. That's obvious," I say carefully, knowing one wrong word could make her angry or upset or hurt or anyone of a thousand possibilities. "I'm leaving him. I've been trying to for days but I'm not strong enough. I will, though."

"You will?" she echoes, masking whatever emotion is behind this divide.

"I am. But— But you and Ron aren't necessarily over." I feel these words will choke me. But I think they'll burn my guilty conscience if I keep them inside any longer.

She seems equally disgusted. Or perhaps conflicted. Or annoyed. I can't tell. At any rate she quickly removes her palm from mine and backs away, right up to the other wall.

"You can still get married. You can still be happy," I stress. I hope she's not listening. I hope she's ignoring every single word I'm saying.

A long silence. And now I want to take back everything. Let my conscience rot me from the inside. Let any concern for my brother, my mother, my family die there as well.

"Fuck you, Ginny. Just fuck you," she sneers, gathering her clothes in a bundle, pushing her way out the curtained cubicle and slamming the door on her way out of the room.

-

_Ron and Harry had decided, in the absence of women, that they would do something manly. Being unable to think of anything tangibly so, they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron._

" _I can't even go to Mum's until the dress stuff is all sorted out," Ron told his best friend, handing him a frosty glass of the guest ale. Tom, the barman, had clearly been doing much to try and attract new business to his establishment._

" _That's nuts," Harry shook his head. "Can't they just hide it?"_

" _No. Mum's paranoid. She thinks I'll go looking for it just because I used to find my Christmas present when I was younger. That was before I realised I'd be getting more or less the same jumper and stopped bothering. But the truth is – I do know all the good hiding places."_

" _You're going tomorrow though for the rehearsal and the dinner with Hermione's mum and dad, though," Harry stated as they found a suitable table, wiping off some residual dampness with his sleeve._

" _Yeah. I think Mum's just stressed about them coming and everything. Her fault. She begged us to have the wedding there," Ron grinned._

" _Yeah, I hope your Mum really gets what's coming to her for being so generous," Harry rolled his eyes._

" _Well, you just better hope she's had enough of this wedding to want your and Ginny's wedding there. You could get married somewhere nice – abroad maybe? That'd be a good laugh for the stag night," Ron suggested._

" _Yeah… Ginny's still got to say yes first, though," Harry mused, swirling his already half finished drink._

" _She will," Ron said as he waved a hand dismissively._

" _Yeah," Harry murmured, taking another big mouthful of ale. "I wouldn't mind it being the Burrow. If that's what Ginny and Molly wanted. It'd be nice. Your home's always meant a lot to me, you know."_

" _Ha, you big poof," Ron laughed, punching his friend's arm. "The funny thing is I know you're serious."_

" _I am," Harry grinned, pushing Ron away. "Another drink?"_

-

After dinner, I sit outside with a cold bottle of mead and watch the pink sky. It's getting chilly but no where near the sub zero temperatures suffered over that dinner table. Hermione was pretending not to notice my existence for obvious reasons and Mum was silently seething at me, thinking one of us should have had our wands with us to counter the 'Gnome Thieves'. Now two new dresses had to be made and fitted all before the Grangers show up tomorrow for the wedding rehearsal and big family dinner.

This, of course, is all my fault in my mum's eyes. Hermione is absolved of all sins.

I couldn't finish dinner quickly enough.

My mind flits to Harry and that horridly beautiful engagement ring sitting upstairs on my dressing table.

Soft footsteps sound on the wooden boards behind me and a quiet ' _hey_ ' interrupt that thought. That mixing with the faintest scent of her in the air leaves no doubt as to whom it is.

"Hey," I mumble, not turning round and clutching my bottle as it was a lifebelt.

"Came to make peace. And thank you."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to thank you. For earlier. With the dress incident. In the woods."

Ah. The incident. It wouldn't take the slickest cryptographer in the world to know what she's on about.

"Just covering up for Mum," I reply simply, picking at the label with an annoying ragged nail. Probably the product of this mornings exertions.

"Yeah. But you didn't have to," she says, clearing her throat and taking a few tentative steps behind me.

"It was hardly a heroic act of Gryffindor bravery. Just let it go," I mutter, taking a swig. She deposits herself on the step beside me, not looking at me, but out at the view.

"Beautiful sky, lovely sunset," she murmurs before turning to me. "Don't you think?"

Oh Merlin, I can't have this as a self contained, glistening, romantic moment right now.

"Beautiful," I concur shortly, staring at the bottle as I roll it between my hands.

"May I?" she asks, reaching for the mead. She takes it, assuming my silent answer and puts it to her lips.

Diffuse the situation. Make it seems less romantic, less idealistic. Suck the magic out like poison.

"You must see a lot of them at your and Ron's house," I say harshly. "Harry tells me you have a great view. Nothing around for miles. Tells me Ron's already picked out colours for the kids room. Don't know why you didn't just have the wedding there."

"Molly insisted," Hermione says quietly, taking another drink before handing it back to me. "Everyone knows where the Burrow is. She wanted to have another of her children marry here. It was important to her."

"Yeah. Mum told me how much she's looking forward to you marrying Ron and being a proper part of the family. Though she always felt like you were."

The way I tell her this is more like an insult than a commendation. Reminding her of just how much my family thinks of her.

"That… was nice to say," Hermione sighs, letting her head rest on her knees, covertly trying to wipe the corner of her eye.

"It was nice," I nod, standing up and brushing myself off. "She meant it as well."

As I turn to go back into the house, Hermione reaches up and grabs my hand.

"Ginny… Can you not leave me out here?" she asks in a small voice, looking up at me with hopeful eyes. "We could just talk for a bit longer?"

"You don't need me," I swallow, attempting to keep my voice as level as possible. "You don't need anyone. You never have. You're perfectly fine isolated by yourself, surrounding yourself with people to shove in the background to pretend you need and care about. But you don't. Never will."

For a moment she forgets to inhale, staring up at me dumb founded and wounded.

"Ginny, I don't know why you're so _fucking_ spiteful!" she hisses, snatching her hand from me and tearing inside the house.

My chest constricts and if it's possible I feel my heart slumping, resting forward, needing my rib cage to prop it up. It's gone too many rounds and it's nearly out.

_That_ should buy me more time. More space. Explicitly telling her to piss off and marry Ron didn't do much good. Perhaps blatant callousness will. Three nights until the wedding and my cruelty should earn me a wide berth from Hermione Granger. I only hope.


	12. Chapter 12

I am so tired of this pull-push bullshit. I'm tired of wanting to rip every fibre of clothing from her body one moment and telling her to fuck off for her own good the next. I'm tired of morality and loyalty battling with what I feel.

People talk about love all the time. It's an obsession. A pursuit. Hell, looking for love is practically a sport.

I love you… I love this… I love them. Love, love, _lovelovelove._

It's like writing a word down so many times it starts to look funny. It starts to look completely wrong. It's not incorrect but the constant repetition and unwavering presence of it makes it surreal.

I feel like I love her. I pine like I love her. I suffer like I love her. I believe like I love her. I act like I love her – Sometimes it's obvious, sometimes not (see: telling her to fuck off). I think like I love her. I love like I love her.

And it's all too much. The switch is flipped and I get so confused, so _sick_ of the word that I'm not even sure what it means anymore. I can't get my head round it. I can't even form the syllables and pronounce the word anymore.

So sick I don't believe that love is real at all.

It can't possibly be. It's such a bizarre and ridiculous concept when you properly think about it. It's bizarre and ridiculous and so terribly abstract. You can't taste, touch or explain it. It's a feeling – (Deliberate? Accidental?) – which can manifest physically; Stomach flops, fast heartbeat, shallow breathing, shaking knees, sweating hands, dizzy head and a goofy fucking smile.

These involuntary body spasms are symptoms of love. Love as a disease; filling you up, killing off all that is healthy and normal inside you until you are hollowed out. Love causes pain and poison - it's supposed to be wonderful but I don't feel that way. I don't feel wonderful at all.

And then I tell myself that I do not love her. Love is ridiculous. Love is not even real. Too abstract to possibly exist.

And then my body spits out another symptom; my heart jumps like a hurdler and I know bone to blood to flesh to muscle to skin than I love her.

That is about the step in this process that I wish I could I punch myself in the face.

My fitful thoughts make for fitful dreams and I awake to the knocking of the Fitting woman. Not actually fitting you understand, but knocking. Loudly. At the door. Is she early or have I slept in?

My clock tells me it's the latter.

I'm so exhausted in mind and more than anything else I would rather not see Hermione in another white dress.

Thus, I flip over, bury my face in my pillow and try to will myself to amnesia.

I rouse to a soft kiss. Not romantic. Alarming. Do you have any idea how incredibly frightening it is to wake up to someone kissing you?

A kiss, a stubbly chin, a racing heartbeat, flecks of his hair in my face and a particular boy scent.

"Morning, you," he says softly, stroking my cheek. "Or, afternoon that is."

"What?" I mumble groggily, making a grab for my clock. It is indeed afternoon. I flop back onto the mattress. Time slipping away again. Well, a few hours unconscious as opposed to a few hours nodding and smiling at wedding dresses isn't a total loss.

"Sleep in?" he asks sweetly, pushing my hair back.

"You think?" I drawl, stretching.

"Ron and I just got here. Your mum tells me the dress fitter's just away. I thought she was supposed to be here yesterday."

"She was here yesterday. But she had to come back. Gnomes," I yawn. There's no way Harry could seriously fall for it, so I should just breeze right past this latest lie.

"You get off work?"

"I asked Julia for the rest of the week off on Wednesday. She was fine with it," I reply, slumping back.

"All right for some," he muses, tickling my chin before I swat his hand away.

"Get off, Harry. I'm hardly awake."

"Right. Hermione's parents won't be long, another hour or so," he informs me, pushing his weight off the bed. He walks to the far corner of the room with apparent purpose.

"Well, they're not coming to see me," I shoot back, rubbing my eyes and not knowing what he's doing.

"Yeah, but then it's the rehearsal shortly after they get here," he says patiently, coming back to my side.

"OK," I nod, closing my eyes again.

"And then there's the dinner. Then the Stag night tomorrow. Then the Wedding. And at some point I'd like to talk about _this_ ," he finishes with a low tone.

"I don't know what 'this' is," I yawn again, nuzzling into my duvet once more.

"Open your eyes," he beseeches me. When I do, there's that ring again, wedged between his thumb and forefinger. "You didn't write me back."

"I've been busy at wedding central," I sniff, trying to seem unfazed. "I don't see you doing your fair share of the heavy lifting. Unless you include planning a boozy night out for which the blueprint reads: Harry, Ron, brothers and friends enter establishment, buy drink and end up pissed."

"Because you've planned such a great Hen night," Harry retorts sarcastically.

"She doesn't want one," I tell him immediately. If I know Hermione like I know I do, she doesn't want one. On the off chance she _does_ then tough. There's not a Hippogriff in Hell that could force me.

"You sure? I thought she'd want one," Harry second guesses me.

"Absolutely."

After a moment of silence he holds the ring farther out. "So when are we going to talk about it?"

I lower his hand and close his fist around the ring.

"Ask me after the wedding, Harry. I don't want anything spoiling this for Ron and Hermione," I lie, doing my very best to paint on an empathetic, caring face.

"It wouldn't _spoil_ it," Harry argues lightly. "It's good news. They'd be over the moon."

"Yeah, but it's their wedding, Harry. Just leave it until after, all right?" I coax him.

Slowly, he comes round. Slowly, he nods and places the ring in his pocket. "I love you," he tells me simply.

And for the first time with Harry, I cannot force a reply to that statement.

I watch from the window as the Grangers' car drives up the dusty road to our house. Hermione, who must have been watching from the window or the front steps, rushes out to meet them. Her dad gets out the passenger side and envelopes her in a great hug. They exchange a few words before Hermione turns to her mother's arms and they sway together.

I wonder how long it's been since Hermione last actually saw her parents. A couple of months? Six? They must have gotten together after the proposal, surely.

At school, I didn't see my parents for several months at a time, in between the holidays – no one did. Now it seems strange if I don't at least see them every fortnight. I suppose it helps seeing Dad at the Ministry a lot.

But Hermione and her parents are in separate worlds. They have a long drive to reach Hermione's house and she probably works too much and too late at St. Mungos to just drop everything and Disapparate to her parents door.

Can she tell them all the things that she does in her work or does it scare them? Can they actually appreciate her superior magical abilities knowing a very small pool of people to compare her to? Does she perform spells in front of them or is it a more closeted affair?

Even with all these issues and potential problems, it's clear from my overlooking position up here that she's still very close to them. Probably because before she went to Hogwarts she didn't really have anyone else but them.

My mother has put together quite a welcoming party for her new in-laws and for the most part they all seem to be getting on well together, except from when Dad asks embarrassing muggle related questions.

To his delight (and I imagine at Hermione's suggestion) they brought him a toaster. They explained that a toaster was a traditional wedding gift years ago, helping a couple to accumulate their kitchen appliances. Fascinated and immensely grateful, my Dad won't stop playing with the popping mechanism despite the fact it's not plugged in and has no bread in it.

He stops when Mum finally plucks it out of his hands.

Mum tells the Grangers she can't wait for them to see the wedding site they've arranged out the back. Hermione's dad enquires about the kind of enchantments and spells used. Mum modestly describes them before Dad butts in and tells the Grangers' how fiendishly difficult some of the spells are and the rose fertiliser is a special kind made by Fred and George.

Hermione's mum asks what time the Wedding Wizard will be here for the rehearsal and Mum nearly spills her tea. Horrified that it completely slipped her mind, Mum looks up at the time.

"You two should be getting ready," Mum orders me and Hermione, though we are miles apart. "Go!"

She points upstairs, presumably to my room. Since when did that happen? When did my room become a communal changing room?

"Get ready how? Hermione's obviously not wearing her dress. I'll look like an idiot in mine. There's nothing to get ready for," I sulk, dreading the thought of going into a room alone with Hermione. I would rather stay here and have the worst conversation of life with Harry.

"It might be a rehearsal but it wouldn't kill you to look nice instead of looking like an upside-down bent broomstick, Ginerva," Mum shoots back at me.

My version of getting ready for the sham rehearsal of the sham wedding was to put on a clean pair of jeans and vaguely brush my hair. She's up to selecting special jewellery and applying the kind of makeup she never wears.

"A rehearsal seems so contradictory," Hermione murmurs, carefully inserting her earring. She looks at my reflection in the background through her mirror. I'm lying down on my bed staring at that familiar cracked ceiling. As a child I willed the cracks to split so that I could see the sky as I lay in bed and that the stars would lull me to sleep. "Supposed to be once in a life time and you _practice_ for it."

I barely grunt in response.

Her problem is that she despises having to 'practice' for something. She's either instantly great at it (annoying more often than not) or not bothered at all.

"Rehearsing. We rehearse procedures during Healer training. It's clinical and aiming for perfection. Actors rehearse for a play, making sure they remember every line and movement. They're pretending it's real."

Another faint grunt. She's not even really talking to me.

Or maybe she's trying to get me back for last night.

"Can you help me? It's too fiddly," she requests, holding out her fine chain. Wanting a favour from me at this moment is more of an inconvenience to her than a new way to annoy me.

"I thought it was all pretend so what does jewellery matter?" I mutter, taking the necklace from her. She gathers her hair, twists it and holds it out of the way.

"My mum wore this at her wedding," Hermione replies, looking at my reflection in the mirror as I carefully wind the chain around her neck.

The clasp won't open long enough to connect the end of the silver chain. My hands are sweating, making it slip from my grasp. This is frustrating. I just want to get this done and get away from her.

"Sorry," I mumble, raising my eyes to look at her. She's still gazing at my reflection, that particular misty, wistful look on her face.

"It's OK," she replies quietly. "Take your time."

"Right," I nod, pursing my lips.

"Harry was here this morning?" she asks, tilting her head to the side just as I nearly had it.

"Yes," I say in a hard tone. I wipe one hand on my jeans and try again.

"I haven't seen him yet."

"He flooed over to get Ron," I reply, struggling to grip the loop of the chain.

Is that your engagement ring over on the table?" she asks, nodding to the reflection of the glinting circle of Hell in the corner of the room. I fumble the clasp again as she persistently moves.

"It's not my ring. It's Harry's," I reply through gritted teeth. Locks of hair are falling down from the bundle she has held up. I try and brush them away with my pinky finger without grazing the skin.

She has no reply to that, but she does shiver when my skin touches hers, albeit accidentally.

"Stop it," I growl in a low voice.

"Stop what?"

"Just stop whatever you're doing. The questions, the looks. I'm exhausted, Hermione," I scowl, placing the unclasped necklace onto the table. "Get someone else."

"I didn't do anything!" she protests, whirling round, arms wide.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Hermione," I start angrily. "But I've been doing everything I can bloody think of to push you away and forget about you and fall out of… whatever I'm in. You're not making it any easier by constantly coming running back every time I kick you away. According to you I'm the liar and the cheat and the slut but I'm the only one trying to do what's right!"

Her mouth stays open, completely aghast and no reply forthcoming.

"And you just keep coming back every time," I murmur, slumping against the wall. "I don't know for what or for why, but you do. For torture? I don't know if you're trying to cause me pain, or you. Do you need me to want you to feel better about yourself? It's really going over my head now, Hermione. I need you to let me be."

"Ginny—" she starts, towering up, clearly ready to break into a tirade of insults, accusations and denials but for the second time in as many days my mother interrupts, saving me again. She knocks on the door and pokes her head round.

"You two ready? They're about to start."

Hermione's jaw clamps shut and she marches from the room with her head held high. My Mum watches her and then turns to me.

"You didn't do anything to upset her, did you? Oh and you're not wearing _jeans_ to your brothers wedding rehearsal _for Heavens sake."_

The rehearsal passes by in a blur. For most part, I don't watch. My duty was over fairly soon. Precede the Bride down the aisle and then take the bouquet when it's handed to me.

I don't listen to the fake vows and faux sermon. I don't even study Hermione for her reaction and her intonation as she practices professing her pretend love for Ron. On occasion, I glance at Harry. He's so happy. He's beaming. He's probably imagining this as our fake wedding.

From the rehearsal it appears we move seamlessly into the dinner. The full immediate family's here apart from Bill and Charlie who are coming tomorrow morning. Charlie's reluctant to leave his new baby (dragon) with someone else until he has to and Bill's goblin bosses promised him the full week off if he took a last minute job in Saudi Arabia. I think about my two eldest brothers: both seemingly so adventurous and swashbuckling and daring whereas I stare at the same four walls for five days in a row.

The conversation at the dinner table is firmly focused on the upcoming nuptials and I resist the temptation to tumble headfirst into my spaghetti from sheer boredom. Sitting next to me is Harry, who is more animated and joyful than usual; constantly squeezing my hand, tugging at me and complimenting me to the rest. How short his memory is that it was only days ago we had a serious fight about the state of our relationship. He papered over those cracks with a big rock.

Hermione sits between her parents, nodding and listening to all they have to tell her. She looks between them earnestly, not missing a single word. It's then I realise I was wrong. I always thought the way Hermione was before she met Harry and Ron was because she had been smothered by her parents. In fact, it's the other way round – she smothered herself in them.

It's been over a decade since she's had that dependency on them, but watching her now between them I can imagine her at seven, eight, nine years old when she was completely hooked on their love and satisfaction with the daughter they had. She trusted they would always love her and thought from an early age that they were the only ones offering this unconditional absolute. Children are capricious, indecisive and often cruel. Perhaps it was safer banking on the two she could trust.

I wonder if she still feels that they will always love her unconditionally? If she thinks that Ron's another way to solidify this? That if they ever found out about me something would change?

Looking at my own parents, I wonder the same thing.

After dinner I try to escape this madness and steal away to my room, telling Harry I have the usual headache. Before I can take my chance, Percy blocks my exit path.

"Ginny," Percy starts, taking me by the arm and pulling me out of the Harry's earshot.

"Yes, Percy?" I ask dutifully.

"It's about your application," he says in hushed tones as if he was passing me Ministry secrets.

"And?" I try to prod him along.

"We're fast tracking everything, that's why there was such a short deadline," he waffles, smoothing down his awful gold tie.

"OK. And?" I'm starting to get a little impatient as he looks suspiciously round the room, expecting someone to be listening. No one has ever been that interested in what Percy has had to say enough to eavesdrop.

"And we're starting interviews on Monday for all the successful applicants," he adds, clearing his throat.

"And am I one of them?"

The more I think about this job, the more I need it. After I break Harry's heart and Hermione breaks mine all I'll want to do is run. Especially if I have to be at the actually wedding and watch this horrible crash happen in front of me.

It sounds ideal; a new place; new purpose; new people who don't even speak the same language as me so they can't ask me why I'm weeping openly in the street.

"No."

"No?" I echo loudly, feeling the need to hit him for not breaking it to me more tactfully or for turning me down in the first place.

"Not exactly," he corrects, sensing violence in his future.

"What's not exact about it?"

"You don't have to interview. I'm sending you as part of the advance team to set up Foreign Headquarters. And from your work there we'll see if you're more suited to the Director or Liaison positions we talked about. You'll need to find the HQ location, commence research, hire a small staff to set up and begin with – Quite a lot actually," Percy bristles, doing his best to look down at me from two inches below.

"That sounds great, Perce," I say gratefully, breaking into a slow grin. "Thank you."

"Don't _thank me_ ," Percy waves a hand, looking slightly annoyed. "It's not because you're my sister, it's because you're qualified. And not everyone's prepared to leave for the Foreign Committee immediately. You still are, aren't you?"

"Absolutely, yes," I nod vigorously, images of the rehearsal flooding my head again.

"Well… Good," Percy blusters, seemingly considering asking if I've told Harry yet. He thinks better of it though, Good Ol' Perce: Never a fan of the difficult, personal questions.

Before I can hug him or shake his head if he so desired, he walks towards the kitchen looking for another Butterbeer.

The absence of Percy in my line of vision reveals Hermione.

She's sitting near the fire with her dad. He seems to have brought her a book and she's looking through the delicate pages, nodding and grinning while she listens to him. The pages look wafer thin, so impractical and fine. Most of the books I used to see Hermione with were huge dusty tomes with pages so thick you could be forgiven for thinking that they were waterproof.

There are some etchings; beautifully rendered pencil line drawings on some pages. She runs her fingers over them, feeling what little indentations they must have. She looks at her father, kneels up and kisses him on the cheek. I'd forgotten the look she has when she experiences a moment of consummate happiness.

-

" _It's very old. I got it in London a week ago when I was looking in a rare book store and it jumped out at me. I thought you'd love it," Gerald told Hermione as he watched her inspect the book excitedly._

" _I love it, Dad. I really love it. You know it's always been my favourite," Hermione gushed._

" _It's not your wedding present, obviously," Gerald shrugged. "But just a little something."_

" _I don't need a wedding present from you and Mum. You've paid for so much already," Hermione said quietly, eyes lowered. "But this is amazing."_

" _Nonsense. Molly and Arthur have done a terrific job on the preparations. Everything seems under control."_

" _It is," Hermione nodded solemnly._

" _So why are you so anxious?" he asked suddenly as he sat forward. "Ever since we got here this afternoon you seem so tense."_

" _Nothing's wrong, Dad," Hermione dismissed briskly._

" _Really? I haven't seen you and Ron together except at the rehearsal. And even then…"_

" _Dad, there's no problem," Hermione interrupted, careful to keep the panicky edge out of her voice._

" _Before your Mum and I married, I was a bundle of nerves. I argued with everyone, including her, for weeks before. I couldn't manage to think about the wedding plans. And my best friend and I got into a fist fight," Gerald remembered. "But afterwards all that tension and anxiety just disappeared. It so much pressure and stress for one day out of life. I just… I don't want you to think that what you're feeling isn't normal."_

" _It isn't?" Hermione asked rhetorically adding a bitter laugh._

" _I know you probably don't want to talk to me about it—"_

" _Dad, it's not—"_

" _But what about someone else?" Gerald ploughed on. "Harry, maybe? Or Ron's sister, Ginny? You two were good friends in school. And she is your bridesmaid."_

_Hermione indulged in another bitter laugh._

" _She's Ron's sister, Dad. That's not a good idea," Hermione replied quietly._

" _Well, it's either that or you try and relax a bit? And you haven't relaxed a day since you were born, so I don't expect to break the habit of a lifetime," Gerald joked gently._

" _Oh, ha ha, Dad," Hermione rolled her eyes. She turned her attention back to the old book once more. "But thank you, so much, for this."_

" _Maybe go somewhere and have a read?" he suggested, covering her hand with his. "Let everything fade."_

-

Mum asks me to make sure all the garden furniture is properly in place, check that the sticking charms aren't fading and the weather barrier above is holding. Reluctant as I am, I do it without argument for her. She sounds as frazzled as she looks.

I'm not a foot outside the front door when I'm faced with Hermione sitting alone in the very place I was last night. She cradles the old book her father gave her on her knees and delicately turns the pages. She's so engrossed, she doesn't hear me until I've passed her and am halfway to the wedding set up.

I feel her eyes on my back as I dutifully check and charm as needed, ensuring all the white chairs are affixed and I leave the marital archway until last.

The Day-Rose-U-Gro is working quickly and already beautiful deep red and pale white roses have wound themselves around the arch. Arrangements are set up beside each row marking the length of the aisle. The roses are only ankle height at the moment but by Saturday they'll be waist high. Mum really has done a beautiful job.

At least she didn't have to erect the reception marquee. She's left that task to Bill and Charlie who are coming to Ron's stag night tomorrow.

Another job done and it's time to disappear back inside and hide myself from the waves of relatives arriving for drinks. That'll be the Granger's introduction to the rest of the proud and distinguished Weasley family.

I consider going back into the house another way. Through the side or the front. But she's there, she's already seen me, she's immersed in her book and it would immature if I did.

So pass her I do. I'm almost out of reach when she looks up and smiles dreamily.

"Did you ever read _Alice in Wonderland?_ " she asks plainly. No agenda, no anger, no flirtation. Just asking.

"I'm sorry, what?" I double take, taking a step back and leaning on the opposite side of the porch steps.

She shows me the cover of the blue leather bound book. " _Alice in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carroll. I loved this when I was a child. Dad found a really rare, beautiful copy for me."

"I see that," I say neutrally. "It looks beautiful."

"It is," Hermione smiles again, gently flicking back a few pages then holding it up to show me an illustration. "Look at that."

"It's a rabbit. In clothes. With a watch," I observe, squinting.

"He's late," Hermione says softly. "Have you read it?"

"No," I shake my head. "Dad has a few muggle books but we got the usual Wizarding fare when we were kids."

"Thought so," Hermione nodded. "Shame. It's wonderful."

"As the name suggests," I laugh nervously.

"Falling down the rabbit hole," Hermione murmurs, turning her attention back to me. "I suppose we all feel like that sometimes?"

"Only the ones who don't look where they're going," I quip, shoving my hands in my pocket.

"You don't get it," Hermione replies sadly.

And that's it. She has nothing more to say to me. Whether the book has subdued her or she actually doesn't want to fight with me – I don't know.

I don't think she's even noticed that I'm still standing here, astonished and feeling a little rejected. She can't even be bothered to tell me to fuck off anymore.

But mostly I'm standing watching how contended she seems.

Is this a game? A power play? Or was she actually paying attention to everything I said before?

I'm staring at her, trying to figure this out, studying her as if the answers are written on the inside of her head. Neither of us notice someone else coming outside.

"Ginny, I was wondering where you were," Harry calls, leaning into the doorway.

My eyes are a little fuzzy from intense concentration and it takes me a while to focus on him and realise that he's actually there.

"Harry."

"I said, I was wondering where you were," he repeats slowly, recognising the slightly confused look on my face. "Thought you had a headache. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that Molly's decided not to order me to bunk share with Ron or any of the boys. I'm staying with you tonight."

"Wonderful," I nod, eyes wide like a startled basilisk.

"Wonderful," Hermione echoes under her breath, so low that only I can hear.

"Coming?" Harry asks, holding out his hand to me.

"O-of course."

I slip my hand into his and let him lead me away from Hermione, who is still sitting on the top step reading and seeming like nothing in the world is bothering her.

I can't fathom what she's up to or what she's on about but being around Hermione - whether she's screaming at me, seducing me, ignoring me or hating me – feels eternally like falling down a rabbit hole.


	13. Chapter 13

_I dreamt that I was falling last night, into darkness. It swallowed me and consumed me and I couldn't see the tips of my fingers in front of my face. I felt my body with my hands, I was still there, still alive for sure. That's what my head told me. But my heart couldn't recognise myself. It should be the other way around, shouldn't it? I can't explain it. My dreams are often inscrutable._

_There was nothing left of me. My only safety was that I thought I felt ground below my feet but then I would fall further and nothing would be certain. Every time I attempted to hold, grip, cling on I'd tumble down again._

_This darkness wasn't regret or anger or loathing or guilt. It was loneliness: Distressing, cold, incapacitating loneliness._

_I awoke, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath, heart thundering and mind racing. For several moments I couldn't distinguish a clear reality. Blood to bone to flesh to skin I was sure I was still down there, in there. In nothingness with no one and barely a glimmer of myself for company._

_I lay completely still, sure that any movement would hurtle me back into the arms of the darkness to which I knew I did not belong. That place wasn't meant for me more than it's meant for anyone else in this world._

_I have never been so terrified._

_-_

"Ginny, Harry, come sit down," Mum tells us as we come down for breakfast. Harry grins, tries to smooth down his morning hair (which, believe it or not, is not much worse than his regular hair) and takes a seat next to Alison Granger who's chatting politely to her soon to be Son-In-Law. Hermione's not here but I doubt she's still asleep.

I covertly steal a glance at the kitchen and scan the living room but she's not there. She comes into view as I edge to the side to look through the window. She seems to be sitting in the same place, bent over as if she's reading, with her brown hair blowing in the mild wind. I wonder if she's even moved at all.

I force my attention back onto the breakfast table and my eyes are immediately drawn to my brother. Ron's smiling, beaming actually, as he shoves slice after slice of toast into his mouth. Harry gives his friend a slap on the back which causes Ron to choke a little before Harry sits down.

"Stag night tonight Ron," Harry reminds him, as if he can possibly have forgotten.

"I just hope they'll be no stripping ladies there," Alison Granger warns pointedly, waving her knife like a sword. "Agreed, Molly?"

"Well, it is the boys' Stag night," Gerald interrupts Mum before she can get a word in. "You only get one, you know."

"You coming with us, Mr Granger?" Harry invites, scooping a few sausages on his plate. "More the merrier."

Ron would stab Harry with his fork if he could get away with it in front of Mum. Instead he grips the instrument tightly and his ears radiate.

"No, no," Gerald waves quickly. "Couldn't do that. Anyway, the parents are all going out tonight. A restaurant in the nearest town. Give us a chance to get to know each other a little better."

Seeing that I've not yet sat down, Mum comes over behind me and ushers me next to Dad. She deposits some scrambled egg on my plate and then pushes on some toast as if to make the point that I should act like a civilised person and eat something.

"Try the toast!" Dad urges, his eyes sparkling. "Try it!"

"Try the toast…" I repeat dubiously, but I oblige him by taking a bite.

"Taste different?" he asks before I've swallowed.

"Um, not really," I shake my head. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's from the toaster that the Grangers brought us," Dad explains, having a bite of his own toast.

"It honestly doesn't taste different," Harry breaks in. "All my years of Hogwarts toast and bloody Privet Drive toast and it really doesn't taste any differently."

"Oh," Dad sighs and I can tell he's a little disappointed.

"Sorry," adds Harry.

"Well I think the, uh, magic toast tastes very good," Gerald offers genially.

"But not different?" Dad reiterates.

"No. Not different," Gerald smiles.

My gaze travels to Mum and she looks ready to scream with embarrassment. Hermione's mum's picked up on it as well and chooses to change the subject.

"What've you got planned tonight, Ginny?"

"Tonight?" I echo, my brain not immediately catching up.

"Well, the boys are having a Stag Night, we're going out for dinner – What are you and Hermione doing?"

Doing our very best not to collide in any manner.

I open my mouth to say 'nothing' but I don't think that would go down very well with the mothers. Instead, I fall back on the infant explanation for everything: "It's a secret."

Both Mum and Mrs Granger make ' _Ooh that sounds exciting!'_ mouth shapes while Harry looks mildly surprised. Ron doesn't seem much bothered at all. After all, he does have food in front of him and what appears to be a very happy family.

-

" _Hello, Mr Granger," Percy greeted Hermione's father as he joined him outside._

" _What're you up to out here?" Gerald asked as he pulled his wool gloves over his hands. "Bit chilly."_

_Percy held up his newspaper and flask of tea and shrugged. "The house gets quite loud when everyone's home. And Bill and Charlie aren't even here yet. Just wanted a few moments."_

" _Manage to get the day off then?" Gerald asked, taking a seat next to Percy around the wooden table._

" _Ordered more like," Percy bristled as he folded up his paper. "Dad had something to do with it, I don't doubt."_

_Hermione poked her head out of the door frame and called to her father, "Dad, I'm just going to put on a jumper and some boots before we go. I'll only be a couple of minutes, OK?"_

_Gerald nodded and she disappeared back into the house._

" _Where you off to?" Percy asked politely, offering his flask to Mr Granger._

" _Just a walk round the fields and woods," Gerald said, waving his arm around in an encircling motion. "Fantastic countryside you grew up in. Hermione spent quite a lot of time here as well. Thought it might be good to have a walk, see the sights and clear our heads. The Bride To Be has been a bit stressed lately if you didn't notice."_

" _Well, she's marrying Ron. She's embarking a long life of stress," Percy chuckled._

" _Do you have a girlfriend, Percy?" Gerald asked, noticing that the headline on the newspaper read '_ Talking Toilets Tantrum in King's Grove!' _"Or a partner?" he amended, just in case._

_Percy just smiled and shook his head. "No. I did have a girlfriend for quite a while, but I think at this time in my life I just want to develop my career at the Ministry."_

" _Your father tells me you're heading a special project. Like a University, he said?" Gerald clarified. "For Witches and Wizards? Isn't there one already?"_

" _No, there isn't," Percy smiled as he puffed his chest out._

" _Marvellous, marvellous idea."_

" _I must confess – and you can't tell anyone this – but the idea was inspired by your daughter some years ago," Percy told him in a low voice._

" _Really?"_

" _When she was looking for some idea what she should do after she left Hogwarts she came to me asking about the various careers and opportunities she could explore within the Ministry. She said it was so different that you went immediately from school to work and trained on the job, even in the case of Healers and Wizarding law specialists. She explained to me about muggle University – of course I knew quite a bit already – but she said it wasn't only an option to train and study for a specific job but to expand your knowledge and experiment. She couldn't believe that all the formal Magical knowledge and exploration she could receive was at Hogwarts and there had to be so much more to Magic than that, considering how ancient and untapped it is. She raised many good points about learning from experts in specialised fields and having a place for invention and innovation."_

" _Sounds like she set you on the right track," Gerald commented, amused. Percy nodded effusively._

" _Absolutely. I think there's something missing in Wizarding life, though we don't really realise it because we had no other option," Percy said simply. "I know I would've loved to go if it'd been an option. So I spent years formulating and researching in my spare time before taking it to the Ministry. Years and years of planning and thinking and they give me the funding grant within minutes."_

" _That's sensational," Gerald replied. "Where are you thinking of building it?"_

" _Well, for the main campus I've looked at many countries in Europe as the British government isn't overly keen on it. I've spoken to the Spanish Minister for Magic many times and he's really pushing an excellent site near Madrid."_

" _Nicer weather – If I could've went to university in Spain, I would have," Gerald joked._

" _Better economically speaking as well," Percy said briskly. "The Swiss are also interested, as are the Italians and Germans."_

" _So what's the next stage then? How do you go about deciding where to put a University?" Gerald enquired._

" _The Foreign Committee. They'll go over and set up offices in mainland Europe and they'll be tasked with exploring each site thoroughly and reporting back."_

" _Would that be you…?"_

" _No, no. I'll be in London, coordinating from there. But my sister Ginny's heading the advance Foreign Committee on a provisional basis," Percy answered, somewhat proudly. His face drained of colour and he added before Gerald could reply, "But you mustn't tell anyone. No one knows that Ginny's going to be living abroad for a few years. I only told her yesterday she'd got the job and I don't think she even told Mum or Harry that she applied."_

_The clattering of the front door alerted Percy to the presence of another. He feared that it was his mother behind him and dared not to turn around._

" _Hermione, ready for our walk?" her father asked brightly upon seeing his daughter changed and ready._

_She nodded vaguely, her eyes on the back of Percy's head. "Did you say that Ginny was moving abroad? Did I hear that?"_

" _You did, yes," Gerald replied before Percy could deny the entire conversation. "Percy was telling me about his Wizarding University – Sorry, Master's School – and Ginny's a big part of the team in Europe. Isn't that magnificent?"_

_Hermione nodded dumbly as she passed by her dad and Percy on the porch. She continued to wander down the garden path and Gerald gave Percy a swift nod and followed his daughter._

" _Percy told me by accident, I think it's supposed to be a secret," Gerald half-apologised._

" _I gathered that," Hermione sniffed as she strode forwards._

" _What's wrong? Are you worried about Harry and Ginny? Perhaps they'll still be together. You said he travels abroad quite a lot for his job. They could work something out, I'm sure," Gerald soothed as he attempted to placate her._

_Hermione stopped walking and turned to her dad. She shook her head sadly and he could see that tears had formed._

" _She doesn't leave. She's never the one who leaves."_

_-_

"So how do I look?" Harry asks, turning to me and smoothing down his good trousers.

"Nice, very nice," I nod, not sure what else to say. He doesn't often ask my opinion on his appearance.

"Nice enough to pick up a stripper?" he teases, flopping down beside me on the bed and kissing me. I'm sure he was aiming for the lips but I turn at the last second. He doesn't seem to notice though.

"I'm sure," I half smile, feeling incredibly awkward.

"I was thinking," he starts tentatively. "Maybe tomorrow night we could go to the B&B in town that Hermione and Ron are booked into?"

"Why?" I ask, completely aghast.

"Well, a little privacy," he muses. "We could have some late night drinks with them after the reception and then head up to a room of our own. Something a little more intimate. Something a little further away from everyone."

This is his coded way of asking me if I'd like to have sex with him tomorrow night. He's too honourable, too respectful, too much of a gentleman to try to sleep with me at the Burrow. I honestly can't remember the last time we had sex – It was more months than weeks ago, I think. And sex it certainly was, not 'making love' or 'fucking.' The last year or so it has become the carnal equivalent of the flat-pack furniture we bought for the flat: Insert screw B into hole A and the end product is just as expected. It's not grand or exquisite or exceedingly beautiful, but it'll do for now. Just be glad you've got a coffee table at all.

Mum knocks once and immediately comes in. I wonder if she was trying to catch us doing something there's no chance of.

"You look very nice, Harry dear," Mum tells him, balancing a pile of sheets on one arm so that she can place her other hand on her waist.

"Thanks," he grins. "That's what Ginny said."

"Just wanted to remind you to move your things over to Ron's room before you go out," Mum says, gesturing to his hold-all. "You won't want to wake them up late in the night just to grab your pyjamas."

"Wake 'who' up?" I ask, sitting up straight.

"You and Hermione," Mum replies in an obvious tone of voice. "Hermione and Ron can't spend the night together. He's not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. And I'm sure it'll be easier for the two boys to pass out in their own room instead of waking you both up."

Brain stop. Restart. Failing. Kick. Stutter. Flicker into life.

"Are you serious, Mum?" I cry shrilly. "That-That is so old fashioned and impractical and-and—"

"It's not impractical in the slightest, Ginny," she scolds. "I'm sure you can bear to be away from Harry for one night. Now, here are some sheets. Make up the pullout bed for Hermione. Unless you could part with your bed for one night. She is getting married to your brother tomorrow."

"She's not sleeping with me!" I half-shriek. The strength of my refusal alerts Harry and Mum somewhat.

"Not that it would kill you, Ginerva! Heavens forefend!" Mum mocks me in an exasperating tone. "And I meant that you could sleep in the pull-out and Hermione could have a proper bed for a proper nights' sleep."

I bite my tongue but I think the glint in my eyes is effectively communicating what I think of that idea. I certainly don't want to cede any more ground to Hermione than is necessary.

Harry, Ron and the boys are long since gone. The parents have just left, twenty minutes late for their reservation. Dad proposed they Apparate, taking the Grangers side-a-long. That suggestion was met by a strong hand from one Molly Weasley. Hermione's dad looked quite up for it but his wife blanched.

Finally, Alison Granger suggested that they phone a taxi and off they went. Which, of course, left Hermione and I unattended. She hasn't much moved since she settled down with her book after she got back in from a walk with her dad. I'm wandering about as lost as a Niffler with nothing to niffle.

"Do you… want to do anything?" I venture, not knowing where this urge to play the hostess is coming from.

"Like what?"

"Exploding Snap? Wizard's Chess?"

She shakes her head hesitantly. She holds up her blue leather book. "I'm almost finished so…"

"No, that's OK," I hold up my hands. "I didn't particulary want to—I mean, I wasn't really in a 'game playing' mood."

"OK, good," Hermione shrugs good natured, focusing on the page.

"I was right, wasn't I? That you didn't want a Hen night?" I ask out of curiosity.

"This is fine," Hermione replies in a low voice, looking up to smile at me just long enough for my heart to skip a step before returning to her book.

"Right. Good."

I'm tempted to put on the wireless but I don't want to disturb her reading, make her agitated and then get into another squabble which is sure to escalate to hurtful and possibly dangerous proportions considering we have a free run of the house. Instead I have a sift through Mums magazines and flop down on the couch

"Oh. Congratulations," she murmurs, turning to me. I keep my head down, flicking through _Witch Weekly._ This feature on _Love Spells Gone Wrong_ has suddenly caught my eye.

She continues watching me, scrutinising my every twitch. I flick several pages rather furiously and will my cheeks to stop burning. Whatever she's congratulating me for – it cannot be good.

"Don't you want to know why I'm congratulating you?" she asks leadingly, raising her eyebrows.

"No, not at all," I reply, trying to concentrate on my horoscope.

_You Leo ladies will have a very good week. A handsome man will—_ Blah, blah, blah.

A handsome man will try and paw me to death in pursuit of sexual relations? A handsome man will ask me why I have so many inconvenient headaches? A handsome man will curse me after I tell him I'm leaving him?

"You're not actually reading that," Hermione says haughtily. "Give me that."

"No! I am!" I reply defensively, pulling it out of her grasp as she attempts to take it from me. This magazine, this crappy rag, this poor excuse for journalism is my lifebelt right now.

"Yeah?" she smirks, unconvinced. "So what are you reading? The 5 minute steamy fiction?"

I pull a face in response to that assumption. "Horoscopes."

"Really?" she nods sarcastically. "And what is mine for the week?"

"Virgo: In for a very big bitch slap succeeded by keeping their nose out of other people's business," I invent wildly.

"No handsome strangers for me, then?" she asks, looking a bit amused.

"None," I shake my head in mock regret.

"Anything in yours about traversing the globe?" she enquires pleasantly.

My head goes down and I study the opposite page offering cosmetic lip and breast enchantments. How fascinating they are. I wonder if I could get my entire face rearranged and escape this nightmare.

"Have you actually told anyone?" she presses on, sitting straight in her chair.

I give a little throat clearing cough and turn the page for Witches Dating Lines and adverts for romantic pen pals. That would be an idea. Romance with a pen pal. Never have to see them, never have to put up with this and they wouldn't care if I left the country.

"Are you going to tell anyone?" she asks in a louder voice, clucking her tongue.

_Agnieszka, twenty-four, from Romania. Likes hiking_ (surely that's just walking?), _extreme broom racing and Dragons._

I'll circle that for Charlie.

"Are you going to answer me?" she demands, becoming impatient.

_Katherine, twenty-nine, from Canada. Likes politics, debating and betting on back street Hippogriff fighting._

That was almost one for Percy – he's never really been a gambling man.

"Ginny!"

The tone and volume of her voice demands that I don't ignore her any longer unless I want this to escalate into a bare knuckle boxing match.

" _Yes_ , I have a new job. _No_ , I haven't told anyone so I don't know how you found out. _Yes,_ I will eventually tell everyone. I don't think you can deny me the right to choose where and how I want to live and work, do you?" I reply calmly.

Instead of shouting at me, or giving me another haughty, annoyed response, she just nods, somewhat sadly. She nods and she gets out of her chair. She places her book, _Alice in Wonderland,_ on my lap and gestures at it, silently suggesting I look at it. Then she turns her back and heads to the kitchen.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she calls through to me.

I am astonished.

Two hours later and the Burrow is the picture of perfect, blissful domesticity. No, I'm not kidding and yes, Hermione and I are still the only two people in the house.

I have spent the time completely immersed in Hermione's book while she has chosen something from Mum and Dad's collection. She read the first few chapters of one of Mum's cheesy romance novels before deciding that it was, in fact, not great literature. After putting that down, she turns to an old favourite: _Hogwarts, A History._ I honestly didn't know that it existed in this house.

She hesitantly clears her throat as she stands in front me.

"Enjoying it?" she enquires, hands on her hips.

"I am. It's a bit nonsense though, isn't it?" I ask her tentatively. Instead of a long argument refuting my claim, she just laughs.

"It's supposed to be nonsense," she chortles, her eyes smiling. "It's part of the charm."

"Oh. Right. So why are you laughing?" I ask, with a somewhat wounded puppy look.

"Because you, Ginny, were raised in a world of nonsense since birth – Flying broomsticks and magic wands. In this world there are fantastic creatures, spells to do things most muggle authors only dream of and the most bizarre people you're ever likely to meet live on Diagon Alley. It's always been normal to you. And you think that _this_ is nonsense?" she explains through tears as her laughing fit has now taken her that far.

"Right," I repeat, furrowing my brow.

"Don't go in a huff!" she giggles

"I'm not in a huff," I tell her moodily.

"Sure you're not," she nods sarcastically, calming down a bit. "You hungry?"

"What?"

"Are you hungry? For food?" she repeats, rolling her eyes.

"A bit," I concede. "Mum said there was some leftover stew in the fridge to heat up if we want."

"I think I can do better than that," Hermione smiles, heading off to the kitchen again.

"What are you doing?"

"You like pasta, don't you?"

Pots and pans start banging before she receives my answer.

A mere thirty minutes later and I sit down to what looks like the most delicious meal I've had in months. Not that Mum isn't a fantastic cook but her presentation tends to slip by the wayside when you've got seven kids and a husband to feed.

"So, what is it?" I ask, looking down at the plate.

"An invention," she grins. "Try it."

It would be rude not to. Putting a forkful in my mouth, I pause for a moment.

I had no idea she could cook so well. The sauce is sweet but tangy. Simple but full of flavour. The chicken throughout the dish is perfectly cooked and it blends together perfectly.

"It's fantastic," I enthuse, looking up at her taking another bite. She grins in triumph.

"I love Italian food," she murmurs, looking to her own plate. "I wanted to go to Rome for the honey—"

She breaks off her sentence, eyes wide and watches me like I'm going to throw the pasta at her face.

It's all right. I know the end of that story. Mum told me in one of those long, rambling one sided conversations she likes to have with me. Everyone else talks so bloody much I'm often the only person she can just speak to for a full twenty minutes without interruption. The story is that Ron and Hermione are choosing the destination of their honeymoon so Hermione's parents can book it. Ron fancies Bermuda for general lazing by the sea; Hermione wants to go to Rome for the museums and art galleries. They have a very strained discussion in front of Mum about it and Hermione relents. Ron promises they'll go to a museum there.

"Yeah," is all I say to save her the awkwardness of trying to wind the conversation back.

"Will you…" she hesitates, placing her fork gently down. "Will you be going to Rome?"

"Could be," I reply quietly and not looking her in the eye. "Could go anywhere in Europe. I get to choose where the offices are based. And travel around to see possible places for the school. So I could."

"That's great for you. Really," she says genuinely but with some difficulty. She takes some time swallowing her next mouthful. As do I.

A long silence suspends between us. The only sounds are the gentle clinks of forks against ceramic and dainty sips of water. Finally, we raise our eyes to look at each other at the same moment and nervously smile.

"So what now?" she asks quietly.

"Well," I muse. "I could make dessert?"

She laughs and relaxes slightly. "All right. Before you do, tell me what you liked about the book," she suggests, refilling my glass.

As we go up to bed, the most awful sense of foreboding consumes me. This evening was, funnily enough, the closest to a date that Hermione and I will ever get; the talking, sharing opinions, the dinner and polite fun. The conversation was closely guarded and we were both careful not to mention anything inappropriate bar the Rome Incident. And now here we are, going up to my room. I laugh in spite of myself for thinking that I'm due a polite, first date goodnight kiss at the door.

Despite the relative peace we enjoyed this evening, the atmosphere is not one of relaxation. After I brush my teeth and wash my face, Hermione grabs her toilet bag and heads to the bathroom to wash up. As soon as I hear the click of the lock on the bathroom, I frantically strip and pull on the first pair of sleeping shorts I can place my hands on. When I was four, I would steal the new pairs of boxers Mum bought for Fred and George for the going away to school. I'm the only girl and ergo didn't have the privilege of the same hand-me-downs as the boys. At that age it made me feel a little left out so I'd sleep in them every night and the Twins would be stuck with mostly holey old pants for the year at Hogwarts.

And in the mess of my room (I've only been here a few days, how on earth did it get like this?) I can't find a bloody T-shirt. It sounds like the water has stopped running in the bathroom so she'll surely be back any moment.

I rake through my drawers which contain mostly only old, small clothes. I find a grey T-shirt and it looks a good size. Before I have a chance to see exactly which one it is, I hear Hermione coming back through. I pull it over my head and rush across the room to the mirror to calmly brush my hair as if I'd been doing that all along.

She half-smiles at my reflection and then double takes as if something has caught her eye in the mirror.

" _Dragons Rock?_ " she half-asks me, smirking.

"Sorry, what?" I whirl around to see what the Hell she's talking about. She points to my chest.

Fuck.

Looking down, I realise that this T-shirt isn't even mine. It belongs to Charlie from when he was younger. It's faded and cheesy and has a picture of a boy and his dragon on the front. Both of them are giving the thumbs up and a speech bubble coming out of the boy's mouth claiming that ' _Dragons rock!'_

"Fuck. It isn't mine," I groan, rolling my eyes.

"I didn't think it would be," Hermione replied, amused. She sits down on the pullout, watching me as I continue to brush my hair. I try not to watch her watching me and eventually she turns away, her smile fading as she searches for her pyjamas in her suitcase. Hermione was always one for proper, matching nightwear and I'm sure that tonight's no different.

No. I take that back. Hermione's taste in nightwear has clearly advanced past the mother-sponsored full length bottoms and tops with pictures of cutesy animals on them. Tonight she will be wearing a black silk nightgown. I do believe that this little number could double as evening wear.

This is a farce. This could not get more ridiculous. My colour progresses from the light pink induced by this terrible T-shirt to a deep, dangerous scarlet. The reflection in the mirror causes me to almost swear out loud and I look away immediately.

Instead of going to the bathroom again, she turns her back to me and discreetly peels off her top. I study my hairbrush as if looking for the untold secrets of the magical universe. A tingling sensation singes my inner thigh as my gaze sneaks up to the mirror again. She unclasps her bra and her beautiful bare back is revealed. I look away again, furious with myself. I put down the hairbrush and try to breathe. I have to escape.

"I'm going to get some water," I tell her in a voice that is unusually high. "You want some?"

"No, I'm OK." From out the corner of my eye I can see that she has craned her neck round to me. "Why don't you just conjure some?"

"I-I like tap water better," I stutter. I try to make up for it by smiling. This smile is not a smile, but a hideous, squint, awkward facial expression. What an idiot. There's no difference. Just like magic toast and muggle toast.

With that, I hurry out of the room and downstairs. I lean against the kitchen worktop for several minutes, making sure to give her enough time to get changed and into bed. I would run the scenario in my head to estimate a more exact time but the less I imagine it the better.

Before filling my glass, I use some running water to dampen my skin, cooling my face and neck. Then I heartily gulp down a full glass and refill.

I'm guessing that nearly ten minutes have passed and it must be safe now. As I walk up the stairs, I wonder if it was intentional. She never used to undress in front of me when we were teenagers during the summers she stayed. Before there was ever anything going on between us, she used to change into her PJ's in the bathroom. I, sometimes, wouldn't think (well you don't always when you're thirteen, do you?) and get changed in front of her. I generally wasn't squeamish about my body as a child. It didn't bother me. But Hermione was always very shy. I remember her getting changed into her clothes under the duvet because the line for the bathroom was too long, as it often is at the Burrow.

But tonight…

I try and put any assumptions, conjecture and guesswork out of my head before I push open the door to my bedroom again. Everything is silent, there's no one here. The house usually creaks and stirs but for now it is at rest.

Opening the door reveals Hermione standing in the middle of the room, doing nothing much at all. She seems to be wringing her hands. I wonder if she was pacing. I thought I heard that downstairs.

But she's standing still now. As am I. Both so still and contrasting: One of us in a tatty, old, ridiculous T-shirt and shorts; the other in a flowing black silk nightdress that stops just before her knees.

The condensation from the cold water causes the glasse to nearly slip through my fingers but I tighten my grasp as my heart beats faster.

I remind myself to take a breath.

One of us has to move. Hermione looks as if the next words that fall from her lips will be dangerous ones.

"Goodnight, Hermione," I say calmly, setting the glass down and climbing into bed. I don't look back. Just pull up my duvet, roll onto my side away from her and press my hands to my mouth.

She doesn't say anything at all. Her bed creaks as she gets in and she mutters a command to turn off the light.

And the rest is darkness.

She doesn't shuffle, doesn't try to get comfy on a bed which is full of springs and lumps. She just lies there. I'm sure she's not asleep already.

I don't think I'll ever drift off.

I didn't shut the curtains properly and the moonlight dimly illuminates my room. Everything looks blue-ish grey. I have to remind myself to breathe again.

"This is my last night."

Her confession. Barely louder than a whisper. But I heard it.

"This is my last night," she says, a little stronger. "Last chance."

"You're not dying," I say flatly, eyes squeezing shut.

"Your last night."

"I'm not dying either," I reply snippily.

"I feel like I am," she utters, her voice muffled.

"Shut up and go to sleep," I order, my fist tightening around my duvet.

"I feel like I'm dying."

"Don't be so fucking dramatic," I snap, betraying my plan to keep completely still and absolutely calm. "You're not dying, you're getting married. Tomorrow you'll be a Weasley. Congratulations. Now stop talking to me and go to sleep."

"Ginny—"

"I'm sleeping, Hermione," I stress. I felt this from the moment she put on that nightdress.

"No. You're not. I've told you too much when you're sleeping. I'd notice. This time, you're awake."

"What are you talking about?"

_Breathe._

"Tomorrow I'm supposed to marry Ron. It's been a long time coming and a lot of people going to be there have been expecting this." Her voice is shaking but she doesn't sound scared.

"Yeah, so?" I snipe. Whatever this is, I don't want to make it easy for her. I don't want her to do it at all.

_Breathe._

The rest is darkness.

"It's been a week since you kissed me for the first time in years," Hermione tells me matter-of-factly. "It's only been one week but it feels like several hundred. I'm exhausted. I'm so tired of lying and being lied to."

"Hermione – Stop –"

"No. You stop," she commands me angrily, the creaky pull out shifting as she sits upright. "You stop, Ginny. Stop talking and arguing and fighting and pushing me for long enough that you hear what I have to say!"

I still want to argue and fight and push and scream and yell but I stay silent. Because I want to hear what she has to say.

"Finished?"

When I don't answer she continues in a soft, earnest voice after a deep breath.

_Breathe._

"I-I have this image of you. In my head. A memory from long ago. This perfect image of you. You're sleeping, in the room of requirement. Your hair's slightly tangled, half over your forehead. You're breathing really softly and your lips are pink. Your hand is up under your cheek and you fell asleep with the other one curled around my fingers. And I enfolded myself into you, interlocking my legs with yours, putting my arm around your waist and my head on your chest. I listened to your breathing and your gentle heartbeat…"

Her breath catches in her throat as I'm holding mine.

_Breathe._

I can't.

"I think about this all the time Ginny. Every time I've been worried or scared or anxious or restless - Sometimes even when I just can't sleep. I go back to that moment and I feel warm inside. I imagine leaning into you and I feel so much better. Most of the time I feel sick and awful and missing but this image makes me better."

_Breathe_

If I don't, I will die.

"And that's only when you're asleep. When you're awake and you look at me or _touch_ me—"

"Hermione. Stop," I say firmly, squeezing my eyes shut.

" _No._ When you touch me, I go to pieces. I can't even tell where you're touching me because I feel it _everywhere_. When you kiss me I'm—I'm—" she grunts in frustration. I hear the swift rustle of her throwing off her duvet. The fold down mattress creaks softly as her weight shifts off it. The air becomes hotter. I feel her coming towards me.

I feel the hand on my back moments before she touches me. Her caress silently implores me to face her. Instead, I seize up, stiffen every muscle and control any impulse to move in the slightest.

"When you kiss me, I can't tell where I am. I can barely think of anything – What's happening, who's Minister for Magic, who wrote _Hogwarts: A History_ , what my name is… All I think is that I'm kissing you and all I want to be doing for the rest of forever is kiss you. And then I lose control and I c-can't stand it building inside anymore," she finishes, her voice escalating shrilly.

I hiss a stream of swear words into my pillow as I keep my eyes tightly closed. The bed shifts as she slides in beside me. Slowly, she edges closer to me and lines my body with her heat. A hand skims lightly down my arm and finds my hands clasped tightly in front of me. Gently, she eases her hand into mine.

Oh God, her legs are woven through my own, her breath is at my ear, her hand is in mine and her lips are on my neck.

"Ginny," she whispers, sounding close to tears.

"What?" I croak in a voice that sounds nothing like mine.

"Turn to me," she urges, squeezing my hand.

"No," I reply shakily. A sliver of moonlight steals through the curtains and dances across our bodies.

The fingertips of her other hand trace the length of my spine and the hand that is around me presses against the flesh of my stomach.

"I have tried so desperately to fight this. And you. I've tried to scream it out, cry it out, block it out. Nothing works. Because nothing _will_."

"Will you please stop? I'm trying so hard," I beg in vain.

"I know. I know you are," she soothes, kissing my ear delicately. "I've tried as well. But every time I try to lock up what's inside, it spirals further out of control. _I_ spiral further out of control and I fall further down the rabbit hole. Ginny, I want you. I want you to love me and hold me. Kiss me and keep me safe. Take me to the edge and bring me back again. Trust me and let me protect you. Talk to me and argue with me. Fight with me and play with me. And never let me go."

Her hand, the one that was pressed against my stomach is moving lower: skimming across my skin, slipping underneath the waistband of my shorts and inside.

I gasp and throw my head back. Like I've been submerged in water too long and I'm finally surfacing, taking that vital breath.

" _I am so in love with you,"_ she hisses urgently into my ear, pressing farther and deeper.

Involuntarily, my free arm bends up and back, clings onto her neck and pulls her closer. Her lips trail down my exposed throat, nipping, kissing, licking.

I am here, I am weakened and here for the taking. Only her mercy can save me now.

My ankle locks around hers. It's like I'm trying to absorb her, merge. I can't stand to have any part of my body not lined with hers.

Gently, she tips my head back, just watching me shudder and breathe; touching my brow, my cheeks, my lips.

"I dreamt that I was falling into darkness last night," she confesses in a hushed voice, searching my eyes for some understanding. I can feel her words in the back of my throat. My only response is a series of pathetic and pleading whimpers. She seems satisfied with that.

She descends upon me and covers her mouth with mine. A kiss to seal it.

If I said that our first kiss, the very first kiss in a field, behind a tree not far from here wasn't immediately earth shattering and world changing then this one most certainly is.

The air now becomes intolerably hot as her lips weave with mine. Her hand, _that_ hand, moves farther, deeper still as she immerses herself in me. Her mouth catches my bottom lip as I let out a tiny whine. I am well and truly in the clutches of Hermione Granger now.

"Drink me," I urge her, colliding my lips with her own.

Her hips move with mine, grinding against me from behind. She slips her other arm under and around me and it proceeds in the opposite direction from her right arm. Her fingertips are cold as they dance on my bare stomach, stealthily sneaking up and soon they delicately circle my nipple.

Against the cool of her fingers, I feel my chest getting warmer and my breathing is shallower as my body rapidly moves against her.

I am powerless to resist. There's too little of me and too much of her. She's controlling me, steering me, driving me closer. I grab a fistful of her hair as it starts to rise. Her teeth are on the back of my neck. I'm losing.

A single moment in time becomes forever. An instant that expands over millennia, all conquering. I tighten and convulse, crying her name as I see the stars like there's no roof above me.

And then the final lone bursting, dying, shooting star streaking across the darkness. Something I have never felt the likes of before and in this transient, transcendent moment I'm sure I never will again.

A deep breath.

And I cry. Exhausted and defeated. Euphoric and ecstatic. Subdued and hungry.

She turns me round to face her at last, kissing me through my tears of elation.

I taste a different saltwater on my lips and realise she is crying with me.

-

_In their infinite wisdom the Weasley men had decided to walk home from the Stag Party. Bill kept insisting that only he knew the way home and led them across fields, criss-crossing and turning back on themselves. He claimed he was following the Northern Star until Percy informed him that it was, in fact, the top of a muggle electricity pylon. From that moment Percy led the expedition in search of home as he was the least intoxicated._

_The three eldest brothers spearheaded the pack, frequently arguing over the best path. Harry and Ron were lagging behind, talking and laughing and sharing a bottle of beer they'd liberated from the pub._

_Fred and George were bringing up the rear. Every so often, Ron turned to make sure he had a clear sight of the twins but they followed on well enough as they sang old nursery rhymes littered with swear words and sexual references._

" _That was - without a doubt, mate – the best Stag night anyone has ever had," Ron slurred to his best friend, slinging an arm around his shoulder. To accentuate the point, he placed a sloppy, smacking kiss on Harry's cheek._

_Harry howled with laughter as he pushed Ron away which caused him to stumble._

" _Watch it!" Ron warned as he concentrated on steadying himself. "There was no need for that."_

" _Geroff, you weirdo, you're pissed," Harry pointed out as he grabbed the Ron's shoulder to hold him upright._

" _Just cause I'm pissed doesn't mean I can't give my best mate a kiss," Ron teased as he made kissy noises into Harry's ear. Harry tried to swat him away yet again. "Hey! Hey! Hey!" Ron said as sternly as he could in his present state. "I love you, you're my best friend. That's not gay, that's just some friendly man love, all right?"_

_He punched Harry's shoulder with rather too much force to overemphasise his statement._

" _I know that," Harry sulked as he held his arm defensively._

" _All right then," Ron grinned. "Give us a hug then, you git."_

_Harry smiled as he grabbed Ron and pulled him into a bear hug._

" _You're a git," Harry retaliated. Ron pushed him back from the hug, causing Harry to sprawl. After a moment, both laughed maniacally and Ron held out his hand._

"You're _a git," Ron repeated as he hauled Harry from the grass. "You're the Prince of gits."_

" _Yeah? You're the King of gits," Harry replied._

" _OK, you're The Boy Who Is A Git. The Chosen Git."_

" _All right, all right," Harry surrendered. "Can we lay off the Chosen Git for a minute? We're half a mile from where you're getting married tomorrow and I am no where near it."_

" _Harry," Ron said sympathetically as he once again swung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "My sister is a git. We both know that. She's a noble git. She thinks that if you get engaged during the week of my wedding, it'll steal our thunder. Or whatever. She doesn't do that. She doesn't like having thunder herself."_

_Harry smiled bizarrely at Ron, but he got the point._

" _She definitely doesn't like being the centre of attention like that," Harry concurred._

" _Right!" Ron said triumphantly. "So you just have to tell her to stop being such a git. No one cares when you get engaged. Only that you do."_

" _Yeah," Harry nodded, a little brighter._

" _So you just say, 'Ginny, stop being a git and marry me'," Ron grinned as they continued to stumble further towards the Burrow._

" _That is not the most romantic proposal I've ever heard," Harry laughed. "Hope you didn't say that to Hermione."_

" _I'll tell you something," Ron said in a loud hushed tone. "Proposing to Hermione – and her saying yes – was the happiness day of my life. Nothing's ever felt so amazing. It'll be the same for you."_

" _Hope so," Harry nodded. "So I'll do it tomorrow night?"_

_Ron grinned widely and shook his head._

_-_

Several long, intense hours since Hermione slipped into my bed and finally, we both come to rest. Of course that's a euphemistic understatement. In truth we collapse from sheer exhaustion. The sheets are saturated with sweat and a distinct, unforgettable erotic scent hangs in the air.

She cradles my head against her chest and peppers kisses over my forehead as she attempts to regain her breath. I can still feel her inside as she kisses me sweetly once more.

Now does not seem the time for pillow talk. There is nothing to say that would better this moment; only destroy it with the reminder of reality. So we say nothing at all. Nothing more needs to be said. No promises, no confessions, no declarations.

She strokes my hair, pulls me close to her and breathes deeply. I drift in her arms with her gentle, contented heartbeat as my lullaby.

The house creaks around us; it feels like it's swaying, perhaps breathing. Through my weary eyelids, it seems like the world just got brighter. Am I a fool for hope? Perhaps I'm beginning to cool down but a sudden draft makes me shiver and burrow tightly into Hermione.

Something doesn't feel right but I'm too tired to explore what that is. It's probably just the ghoul.

The bright world beyond my eyelids is shadowed by an eclipse. The atmosphere in the room becomes very clammy and uncertain. Something is definitely amiss. Window open, perhaps?

I do my very best in a very shattered state to flicker my eyes open and glance over at the window. The curtains aren't blowing.

The coldness of the air conceals inside me, embedding a sick feeling into the pit of my stomach.

I look to the door and I realise why.

"H-Harry?"


	14. Chapter 14

"H-Harry?"

The shape isn't moving. If that dark shape is a person, then it isn't doing anything. Is it a trick? Is it my guilty conscience finally manifesting? Is this all a game inside my sick, twisted mind?

Hermione stirs out of the light sleep she'd fallen into. She blinks several times and looks up at me. She seems puzzled as to why I'm sitting bolt upright. I look at her and then I look at my conscience. She follows my lead, sitting up to see what's going on.

Her face is stricken by a terror. There is no mistaking that reaction.

"Harry!" she shrieks, unable to do much else.

_Fuck._ He's real. He isn't a figment of my cruel imagination. Harry is standing there. Moonlight shimmers over his face and he looks as horrified as we are.

"Fuck," I utter. There's no other word for it.

Hermione breaks herself out of her catatonic state. Embarrassed, she clings to the sheet and pulls it over her bare body.

"Harry, I can—" Hermione starts but all too suddenly Harry is jolted out of his own immobilised state. Before another word is spoken, he turns and flees.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Hermione cries frantically, as she pushes herself from the bed and searches in the dark. I can only assume for something to wear. She doesn't look or turn to me once

I'm still sitting here. Unable to move, caught in my own limbo.

Hermione grabs her black robe and pulls it tightly around herself whilst running down the stairs. The rattling of the bedroom door its frame jolts me back to reality. Jumping from the bed, I cannot see any other quick option than to wrap our sex soaked sheets around me if I want to follow. I can't think of anything more distasteful.

But I do. I wind the white sheets around me, bunching them up at the top in a fist and take off after Harry and Hermione.

I have never heard my heart thunder so loudly and I am having no trouble breathing now. I'm gasping for any and all air available. The front door slams again and that's where I must follow.

Going out into the cold air like is as bad as wading into the Great Lake in the dead of winter. The dampness of the sheets ensure that they cling to me, making me shiver. From the pale moonlight I can see Hermione running after Harry at the bottom of the garden.

She's caught up to him. She's grabbing his arm. He swings round to throw her off and she hits the ground.

That's when I start to run and when I reach them no words have been exchanged. Hermione's looking up at him fearfully and he's just at a complete loss.

I try to help her but she pushes me away, pulling herself up. She still won't look at me. I may as well not be here.

"Harry," I start bravely before he turns sharply to me with a murderous glare which disturbs me to my very core.

"Don't," he warns me, his anger barely contained. "Don't you even look at me, Ginny. Don't you _fucking_ look at me!"

I obey him immediately, my sight dropping to the ground.

"Harry," Hermione implores him. "Harry, please, I'm sorry."

His expression is that of sarcastic shock.

"Harry, don't do this. This was a one off mistake. This was cold feet, this was nothing!" she begs him.

Nothing was a mistake. It wasn't an error. Nothing can be corrected.

"Whatever 'this' is, it most certainly is not nothing," Harry replies indignantly.

"Harry," Hermione whispers, struggling to hold on. "Harry - please don't tell Ron."

Harry roars with furious laughter. He doubles over. He stares at her in absolute amazement.

"I'm sorry, don't tell Ron?" he repeats in disbelief. " _Don't tell Ron?_ That's what you have to say to me? Hermione – you _fuck_ my girlfriend the night before you marry my best friend and you're asking me not to tell him!"

"Harry, we were drunk, it was a terrible, awful mistake," Hermione lies – at least about the drinking part. This is one of the few times we haven't been.

"I'm drunk. Ron's drunk. Miraculously – we didn't shag!" Harry roars.

"Please, Harry. Please don't tell him. Please," Hermione cries, holding onto the front of his jacket. "Please. You know me. You know this was a mistake. Please."

"You know what, Hermione?" Harry says cruelly, leaning into her face. "We should've let that troll fucking gore you."

A solitary sob escapes from her chest and she stumbles back, hand over mouth, suppressing the rising despair. She staggers ever backwards, swaying like she may lose her footing and fall to the ground once again.

Instead she turns and backs far enough away that we can't see her face but we can hear her cries.

Harry looks like seven utterly different emotions are bursting out of him. He grunts in frustration, turning away and kicking the soft, yielding ground several times. He lets out a low, guttural scream from between clenched teeth and grips his hair. His body flops and he crouches low to the ground, holding his head fiercely. His breathing is as fast and furious as an animal on the prowl. At any moment I fear he may turn and charge. I don't know what will be left of me when the dust settles.

"Harry," I whisper, advancing ever so softly. "Harry?"

"What?" he mutters, choked.

Oh fuck, he's crying. Don't I feel more like a cruel sadistic bitch now? I reduced the Boy Who Lived to tears: The Chosen One, the boy who would save us all, the boy who would live with me and love me and marry for all the years to come is crouched in a ball in front of me with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Harry, I'll never make this right," I tell him clearly. "Never. I know that. I never expect you to forgive me."

Hermione's words, her lies, maybe her truth whirl around in my head, uprooting everything else in there. I stop. I try to calm the storm. I attempt to focus. I try to block that out for the moment. I owe Harry that much.

"Bloody right you never," he utters, sniffing loudly and clearing his throat violently as if that covers him wiping his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his jacket.

Now he rises, still with his back to me. If he does face me, I don't know what I'll see.

"Was this the only time you—you _slept_ with her?" he asks, still incredulous that this is all actually happening.

"Yes," I answer quickly; truthfully. His head shakes as he raises a hand to his face. I don't know if he's crying again. There's no way he'd show me if he was.

"Why?" he asks in a clear, determined voice.

"Why?" I echo in a hollow voice.

"Yes, Ginny –Why?" he repeats in a hard tone. "Why?"

"I don't have any answers that you want to hear, Harry," I reply quietly. His head drops again as he audibly exhales.

"So what is it I don't want to hear?" Harry persists.

"It happened, Harry. There is no why."

Oh, there is plenty of why, Harry. Plenty of disgusting confessions and hurtful explanations that you will never hear. I would never tell you. Because I am not that cruel. Or honest.

"I don't believe you," Harry sighs, slowly turning round.

"I know you don't," I tell him simply, trying to catch a glimpse of his face that is cleverly shielded by darkness. "I have never expected you to believe me."

"But I did."

"You did," I concur, daring to take a step toward him. "I always expected to be caught out in the lie. I always thought that you could tell. But you couldn't. I don't know if it's because I worshipped you for so long, or because everyone else has but you've became what everyone wanted you to be: Brave and just and true. It seems plausible that you'd be able to detect the people who were the complete opposite of you."

"But I didn't," he says, with no emotion.

"No. You didn't. Under the same roof for all those years and did you never suspect?"

"No. Because I believed you."

"I never thought I was good enough for you, Harry. And not because I feel inferior to the Boy Who Lived. But because you're a good person and I never _wanted_ you. For that I will always be sorry. You don't deserve someone like that, Harry. You don't deserve someone like me."

He makes a small sound which is amplified in the isolated darkness. A part of him is dying. And I know who has blood on her hands.

"How was it?" he asks clearly as he comes closer, revealing himself to me.

"What?" I snap. After everything I've just explained to him, he's enquiring about the _quality of the sex_? After I've explicitly told him I'm not worth it?

"Was it good?"

Good? What a pedestrian, mediocre way to describe something so extraordinary. You clearly have no idea, Harry.

"Yes. Yes, it was good," I reply staunchly, hoping that this is where the conversation ends. How much harder do I have to push until you fall out of love with me, Harry?

"Right," he nods, his tone very businesslike and his face impassive. "And this is the only time you've cheated on me?"

"No," I tell him through gritted teeth.

"Right," he nods again, colour flooding his face. But he does his level best to retain his professional veneer. I feel like I'm on a bloody job interview, not talking about who I've been fucking behind his back. "Who else?"

"Harry, why-"

"I just want to know when my girlfriend started fucking women – that's all," he interrupts placidly. The thinly veiled subtext speaks volumes

"No one you know," I reply shortly.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he retorts crisply. "Men? Women? What are their names?"

"I don't know their names," I utter under my breath. But he hears.

"You don't know their names," he reiterates, sounding very close to breaking his calm. "Well. How many?"

"I don't know, Harry," I moan, exasperated. "It's not as if I carved notches on the bedpost."

"If you did, I imagine your knife would be blunt by now," he mutters. His gaze locks with mine and I can't explain what is happening between us. The silent exchange isn't one of anger, rage, sadness or betrayal. It's not of sympathy, empathy, love, remorse or passion. It feels like a filled empty. And it feels as bad as it sounds.

"How many?"

"Many," I say dully, attempting to not roll my eyes.

"How many?" he batters on.

"Harry, I don't know, I'm not going to pull a number out of thin air just to make you feel satisfied-"

"After what you've done to me, you should be doing everything in your power to explain this to my satisfaction!" Harry yells, his fists clenching and clearly trying to resist the urge to grab me. He's never hurt me and I'm sure he's struggling to keep that record intact right now.

"It's not an explanation, Harry. The answer to that question isn't an explanation," I tell him sadly. "This number - it signifies that all of the times that you were away, or every other weekend when I told you I was going out with work, or when I said I had to pull an all-nighter at the Ministry or any other hideous lie I told you, day-to-day, week-to-week – It all means the same thing."

"That you were out having random sex with random people and not caring about me in the slightest," he surmises. I suck a breath in. It certainly does sound worse when he says it.

"There were no other men, were there?" he guesses astutely.

I shake my head and look away.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," he says in low voice. "You like women. You like having sex with women. You're gay."

It sounds so ugly. The way it trips off his tongue makes it sound harsh and cruel. A fierce accusation hangs in the air that I cannot possibly refute.

"I-I am," I hesitate, my heart beating wildly. It's unpredictable, my heart is. It thumps away quite happily within the confines of my chest most of the time but on occasion – just to remind me how fragile and erratic it is – it behaves like this.

"I wanted to marry you," he trails off, his words choking him.

I feel that heart of mine sink into a marsh of despair.

"I can't believe you did this to me when I trusted you so much," he says, swallowing. "Doing that is one thing, but Hermione? My best friend? Your brother's fiancée?"

I don't know if it was her name or the fact that she'd suitably composed herself but Hermione chooses this moment to come back to us.

"I'm not like Ginny," Hermione cuts in and tells Harry in no uncertain terms. The air around her is cold and impenetrable. This seems like it's going to launch into a rehearsed coercion. "I'm not. You know that. You know _me._ "

I feel like I am not even here. As I watch her edge her body in between Harry and I, I feel like I am fading fast. Her words make me flicker from life. I used to exist just fine without Hermione but her absolute denial of everything I know is real and true smothers me.

"Harry, I am begging you. I will get to my knees if that is what you want. But I am begging you not to tell Ron," she pleads, moving closer to him and further from me.

"Hermione, if you think this is the time to ask for a favour, you're sorely mistaken!" Harry barks, looking at her with possibly even more vitriol than he reserved for me.

"It's not a favour, Harry," she says coldly. "Ron—"

"Ron will be as gutted and disgusted and hurt as I am, no doubt," Harry snaps. He considers that the end of it and walks away from Hermione. She runs after him, rounding him and pushing back on his chest to keep him from escaping.

" _Harry, listen to me!"_ she exclaims, torn between panic and anger.

"Don't see any reason why I should."

"So you can listen to your girlfriend when she's shagged half of London behind your back, but not me?" she spits vindictively.

Now the memories are fading fast. Everything is tainted and melting away. I'm not even convinced this is reality anymore as I am just a spectator to this farce.

Harry looks equally stung by her words; with him stunned into silence, Hermione ploughs ever onward.

"I want to marry Ron. I need to marry Ron," Hermione tells him, her hands still on his chest. She is polishing the silver dagger which is poised to pierce my heart. "It's all I've ever wanted. You _know_ that. This is my entire life, Harry. If you tell Ron about this stupid, silly mistake then he'll never understand and he'll almost certainly never forgive me. This is my _life,_ my _future_."

"You don't deserve my silence," Harry replies through his teeth.

"I don't but I'm begging for it," Hermione implores him. Her eyes shine under the moonlight with tears of frustration and panic.

"Not a chance, Hermione," Harry growls, leaning into her again.

"Harry, I deserve this one," she says warningly as he tries to sidestep her. She blocks him again. "After all I've done _for_ you and _with_ you, I just need this one secret."

"A bloody important secret to keep," Harry sneers, trying to duck her again.

"Harry I have never asked you _for a thing,_ " Hermione says in a low, dangerous voice. "I stood in front of death at your side because I believe in you and I love you. I was with you every step of the way; every duel, every loss, every victory. Every narrow escape and every forced spilt drop of blood. I was there for you. And I am begging you, pleading you not to tell Ron."

Hermione's words have an immediate, visible impact on Harry. His demeanour changes; his shoulders drop and his forehead smoothes over. Instead of looking at Hermione with such hate that could pierce armour, he tilts his head and looks almost wistful. He's remembering something from long ago; most likely something which only he and Hermione share from the struggle during the War a few years ago.

"Harry," she repeats firmly. "I have never asked you for a thing."

Neither of them acknowledges that I'm still here. Hermione is buying Harry's silence with words I do not understand. I doubt I speak the same language as them.

Now they communicate without speaking. Just looking.

"I-I can't stay and watch," Harry whispers finally. "I won't."

"OK," Hermione nods tightly. "I understand."

"Tell him… Tell him it was a work thing and I'll try to get back," Harry stutters, rubbing his forehead. "I won't be back. But tell him I'll try."

Hermione relaxes into a smile. "Thank you, Harry. Thank you."

"Don't," Harry holds up a hand. "You've just made sure I can never be honest with my oldest friend again. So, don't."

Hermione understands. She nods and backs away from him. Now would be the time for the embrace under any other circumstances. But they both turn and walk away from each other.

Hermione is nearly at the steps of the house before I realise what has truly happened. Harry is at the foot of the field.

"Harry! Harry, where are you going? Come back inside, there's no where to go," I call after him, suddenly finding a voice and trying to run. "Harry you can't drink and Disapparate. You'll splinch yourself or something horrible!"

"Thank you very much for the concern about my well being, Ginny dear," he spits out sarcastically. "But I'll be just fine."

Despite the venom, he strides forward to close the gap between us. He takes a red velvet pouch out of his pocket and holds it in front of me.

"The rings. Give them to Charlie. He'll be a good Best Man," Harry instructs me.

The pouch dangles threateningly in front of me. I have no choice but to reluctantly accept it.

"I trust you'll do at least that," Harry says bitterly before half-turning on the spot and Disapparating.

And here am I alone again. In the cold night air, clutching the symbols of my future demise, in a thin damp sheet, mud in between my toes and racked with the most exquisite pain I have ever had the unfortunate privilege of knowing.


	15. Chapter 15

_I am just going to pieces._

_There is a legend, more a folk tale really, that exists in muggle communities all over Britain. The details of it differ slightly considering where you are and which generation tells you the story but it's all the same figure: A White Lady, scorned by her lover, meets an untimely death and then forever wanders the relics of whichever local landmark is perceived as frightening. If you approached her, she would kill you._

_The story changes, as do the customs and infant rhymes but at the centre of it is the wronged woman who is forced to wander the earth alone for the rest of days._

_Considering I now know that ghosts are real, I wonder if there really is a White Lady._

_Out there in the darkness and cloaked in a white sheet, Ginny looks like the spectre I used to fear as a child. Betrayed by the one who loves her, wounded by denial and thirsty for vengeance. If I approached her in this moment, I'm not sure I'd be allowed my continued existence._

_Harry Disapparated ten minutes ago but she's still standing there, near the bottom of her garden, almost out of sight. She's almost transparent. From my view here, I believe I could walk right through her. Everything about her shape screams mourning._

_I've been watching her ever since I forced myself to walk away. A remarkable calm has swarmed around me. It's remarkable considering what I've done._

_I didn't look at her, I couldn't but I felt how she was looking at me._

_Astonishment. Betrayal. Anger. Hatred._

_I never wanted to hurt anyone, never wanted to get into a situation in which I'd need to deceive or hurt another. For all my good intentions, here I am._

_I need to forget what she tastes like, how delicately she gasped. I felt like I was clawing out of a dark tunnel as she raked her nails over the inside of my thigh, hitting that spot: I need to banish that from memory completely._

_I scratch it now, furious that the tingling will not cease._

_It's easy to be brave when in mortal danger. It's all instincts and reflex once you work past being frightened and frozen. It's incredibly easy to do what's brave and right and true when you're seconds away from death: Too easy when you compare it to the 'bravery' of everyday life._

_Sometimes, just getting up in the morning and carrying on with life in the best way you know how is the most brave and noble thing you will accomplish. I can't remember what that 'best' way is now. I feel like I'm making everything up as I go along and I'm floundering terribly. I have no plan, no idea and it unsettles me immensely. It's impulse followed by consequence which leads me deeper into dangerous territory. I'm doing everything wrong but it feels right and nothing makes any sense to me anymore._

_I wish the world could live and die with logic alone. I wish I could._

_My head too often overrules my heart and there's extraordinary comfort in that. But this week I've been slipping from my own control._ She _makes me uncontrollable, and I can't handle that. I'm desperate to regain command of my own flesh once more. All these thoughts and feelings and I can't restrain myself in the slightest. I'm hurtling from grievous error to fatal mistake with no breath and no respite and no indication that I'll be getting any better. Everything that has been trapped inside for years is bubbling up, spewing forth and I can't fathom where it's all gone. It's unsafe: all these emotions living outside of me. It's risky and dangerous and each passing moment makes me more and more anxious._

_It had to stop. I have to stop. Damage has been done, hearts have been ruined but I can try to save something of myself. There's one little piece that I haven't endowed in her and I have to claw my life back. It was never supposed to be like this._

_Ginny Weasley will be the last twist in the story of my life, I know that. From here on out - after what I've just sacrificed to maintain my sanity - I know there will be no more risks, no more chances, no more urgent overwhelming, all consuming passions to surprise me and shake me. I won't let myself behave this way again. This has been my time of weakness and excursion into the folly of whim. I wish I could forgive myself for that but it'll haunt me and follow me to the grave._

_Really. It's better this way. Ron won't surprise me but he'll never leave me. He'll always love me. He doesn't stretch me or challenge me and that's reassuring. The part of me - the one that urges me to do terrible things like kiss her - scolds me for aspiring to a life of quiet mediocrity._

_Ginny's passionate and fierce. The intensity drips from her like condensation on a cold window. Being with her demands that I immerse myself completely. I cannot help it, I cannot halt it. When I am merely close to her, I feel myself consumed by desire and the desire to be consumed. In such proximity to Ginny Weasley, I cannot think, breathe or move without doing it for her. After this evening's exquisite passions, I find myself more devoted and captivated than ever by her presence. I fear I might have taken a significant step from which I can never retreat. I try to unravel myself but the smell of her is all over me. I wonder if I taste like her…_

_I'm not an idiot. I know she'd tire of me quite quickly of me. And then I really would have no one. I can strive to live without whatever madness I've become addicted to if it means that at least I'll have_ something

_I'm thankful the cold night has numbed me because I don't know how deep the ache goes. I'm thankful my heart hasn't truly caught up events because I know the anguish would cause me to scream. I'm thankful the darkness shields her face from me because a single look from her would decimate me._

_I'm thankful there's a pane of glass, a thick brick wall and an expanse of black separating us. If there wasn't, I wouldn't be able to hold myself up right now._

_The stray pieces of me are shattering underfoot as I leave them behind. It's all right – they're too sore to fit, too sharp to carry with me and too cutting to continue to breathe. I can make myself believe that this is the best for all concerned, but-_

_The taste of her, I will always miss._

_-_

The sunlight scorches my eyelids and causes such a chain reaction that I roll from the sofa and fall to the floor with a thump. I am much more comfortable residing in the darkness.

Groggily looking around me, I cannot fathom why I am here; in the living room with only a thin sheet over my skin and the strings of a red velvet pouch dangling from my fingertips.

And now I remember.

I love and loathe the first few moments of every day. Waking up to a clean slate, a blank canvas free to paint on with whatever I wish. No obstacles, no fears, no anxiety. My world is perfect for a few moments a day. I've lived for these few mere moments for years now.

And I loathe them because the gentle bliss is always rudely snatched away by reality. I'll always remember exactly what my life has become and why I feel such consummate despair.

Then I struggle through the rest of the day to sleep and dream and wake to another peaceful few moments.

What I remember is that this is the day I have been dreading ever since Parvati first told me about Hermione and Ron at the Leavers Dance. It was always an excruciating inevitability that it would lead to this very day. I have been preparing for it longer than any one else that'll present today. I just never wanted to be here.

Never in my dreams, let alone my nightmares could I have foreseen the events leading up to this joyous occasion. From the sublime highs to desolate lows, this week has been one to savour and suffer. Time Turning back to Salem would've been better than this week.

I can still experience every touch, every shiver, every helpless gasp of last night. I do my best to block it out for fear of crumbling but I don't think I'm doing very well. I can still hear every terrible word born from Harry Potter's righteous anger. I can still remember every word Hermione uttered to me this week: from love to hate and everything in between.

I am drained and I am exhausted. I would like nothing better than to return to a silent, dreamless state but I am wearing nothing but the illicit sheet from my bed last night and it won't be long until Mum is down to make the morning preparations for her youngest son's wedding.

There's no explanation for why I would be down here like this other than the truth. All the lies have been bled out of me this week and if Mum asked, I would most likely confess.

I can't go to my room, I know Hermione's in there. I know she wouldn't have gone anywhere else. That's not to suggest that she was waiting up for me: I'm damn well sure she wasn't. I know her. I know she went back to her own creaky bed and swallowed half a bottle of Sleeping Draught to pass out and be completely unbothered by my presence - just to prove a point. I wish I could use that purple potion so casually – it would surely help to dull the noise in my head. But knowing myself it wouldn't be too long before I was gulping down three bottles a day and then onto Super Strength Draught of Living Death in the hope of inducing a coma.

I'm assuming the boys'll all be sleeping until late morning considering the time they made it back last night. I'll just sneak in and curl up on the floor of Charlie and Bill's room after I find something suitable to wear. The only thing worse than my mother finding me downstairs with only a sheet for company would be crashing out on my two elder brothers' floor that way. Unlike my mother, they would not take the first explanation as gospel. They would push and cajole and tell me they love me and need to know why it happened. After everything Bill and Charlie have done for me, lying would be chipping away another piece of my soul.

They'll still ask why I'm on their floor in the first place but Hermione's snoring should suffice.

Ever so quietly, I peer round my door. I am right. Triumphantly, desperately – I am always right about that girl.

I sidle round the room, as if shuffling this way makes less noise. But shuffle I do so that I can catch a glimpse of her face. I don't know why. I don't particulary want to see the face of betrayal.

But there it is. Peaceful and still. No indication of last night plagues her features. This could be a different woman from the one who crawled into my bed, hissing delicious words in my ear. No sign of the pathetic, duplicitous appeals for Harry's silence are written on her face. The mask is blank. Her hair has fallen over her face and both of her hands are tucked under her chin.

" _I-I have this image of you. In my head. A memory from long ago. This perfect image of you. You're sleeping…"_

I can't go back after this. After last night, after everything she said, everywhere she touched me, everything she made me feel: I can't go back. I can't go back to dismissing her or my feelings or living in hope that it'll all just fade.

It won't fade. The gate has been unlocked and it's swinging wide open in the midst of a gale. The corset strings have been tugged loose and I can breathe again - but at a severe cost. Each exhalation allows another secret locked up inside of me to escape. Everything is free and nothing can be recaptured. I am stuck this way.

She can hate me, deny me, pull me, trick me, hurt me and kill me but I can never go back. This aches more than I ever thought possible. I was sure I'd reached the bottom of the well of pain where Hermione's concerned but this new depth sees me kissing unbroken darkness. I have been down there in the black too many times to count with not a rope or a friendly hand to help me out. I have been hopeless and helpless and still my heart will push me over the fine edge.

That silver dagger she polished last night is presently wedged between two of my ribs, piercing my mortal flesh deeply. Cruelly, it stopped a unicorn hairs' breadth from my heart. The ease with which she sliced through me and created this bloody gash is astonishing. Every syllable I can recall from last night (and that would include non-words as well) just wound me deeper. I can't make it stop. I can't quell the din.

I am tempted to self- _Obliviate._

Like everything else this week, I cannot understand why. I can't understand why she would take me and conquer me when she had every reason not to. Not to mention my own countless and ultimately meaningless protests. She always fucks me up and leaves me this way. I'd still like to believe that the woman I have been so powerlessly in love with for all these years is a good person. I'd like to believe she didn't do this to hurt me more. That she never intended for this to happen.

" _I feel like I'm dying… I am so in love with you"_

This will not fade, but _I_ will not fade. I will live with my heart on fire. Because what other choice is there?

-

The floor is hard and but the curtains are thick enough to keep daylight at bay. I manage to doze, falling in and out of consciousness for a few hours until a more respectable time in the morning. I gauge this by the fact that at least one of my brothers is rousing from sleep.

Charlie sits up and swings his legs round off the bed. He yawns and rubs his face. It takes him a few moments to notice that I'm here on the floor in his old T-Shirt, shorts and with a sheet tangled around my legs.

"Gin, what you doing in here?" he asks, clearing his throat and looking to the clock. "It's 9am."

"I know," I mumble, struggling to pull myself up. I look over at Bill on the other side of Charlie's bed and he's still knocked out. "I-I couldn't sleep. Hermione snores."

"Oh," he yawns, nodding. "Cool T-shirt."

"You think?" I ask rhetorically. "It's the geekiest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Lena doesn't think so," Charlie grins, probably thinking of his girlfriend wearing such a T-shirt. "She has one just like it."

"Dating for Dragon Dorks," I laugh at him as he stands up and stretches. "Do you wear them out on the street to attract a mate? Or is it just around the Dragon events?"

"Well you can always spot one of your own in a crowd," Charlie shrugs good-naturedly.

"I bet. She coming today?" I ask him curiously. I've never met Lena, Mum has and she really likes her so that has to be a good sign. Either that, or it's the sign of the impending apocalypse.

"Can't," Charlie mutters as he bends over to look under the bed. He drags out a heavy leather bag.

"Left the wife home with the dragon?" I tease.

"Jeffrey," Charlie replies pointedly, looking down at me.

"No, I meant Lena," I say, confused.

"Jeffrey is the dragon's name," Charlie explains. "His name is Jeffrey, not 'dragon'. Would you like it if I referred to you as 'girl'?"

"Mum would probably slap you for bad manners if you did," I retort as he grins back, unzipping his bag. "What a weird name for a dragon."

"Why? What did you want me to call him? Smokey Bob?" he says cheekily as he rifles through his belongings.

"Chuck might have been nice," I tell him thoughtfully.

"Chuck's just another name for Charlie," he groans, shaking his head.

"Yeah. You could've been Big Chuck and Little Chuck," I giggle, enjoying my fun with my favourite brother.

It's not kosher to pick favourites when you come from a big family but it's done anyway. It's not that I love him anymore than the other five but it's a different relationship we have between us, even though he's been abroad for years. He used to write to me all the time at Hogwarts, even more in seventh year. He just knew I'd need him even more that year. Bill's always been there for me but we've never really had the same fun as Charlie and I; Percy's too guarded; the Twins are all fun but you always get the feeling they have such a secret, special world between them and no one's allowed in; And Ron… Well. You know.

Charlie finally finds what he was looking for in his duffel bag and pulls out a thick glass bottle with a silvery blue potion swilling inside of it. He uncorks it and puts it to his lips.

"Charlie!" I half shriek. He looks at me as if I'm completely stupid.

"What?" he asks, not in any state to be amused.

"Y-You can't drink that!" I stutter, flabbergasted. "I'll give you boils! It'll give you boils on your face!"

"Will it now?" he replies, tongue in cheek. He swirls the potion around. "This is a hangover potion, little Gin. Not Boils-On-Face tonic."

"I _know_ it's a hangover potion," I tell him stubbornly, attempting to grab the bottle from his hand. "I know that and so do you! You know that it—"

"Gives you boils?" Charlie interrupts, struggling to keep a straight face.

Before launching into the lecture that was drummed into me from an early age, I pause and look at him, annoyed. "What is it? What's funny?"

"Gin," he starts, now cracking up. "Gin, who told you that? Who told you that this mere hangover potion gives you boils?"

"Well. Mum," I reply simply, not sure where this is going.

"You're what age now, Ginny?" Charlie laughs. "And you haven't yet learned how to tell truth from lies?"

It's obvious I haven't. Perhaps it's because of my own tendencies to spin the truth but I certainly can't decipher it in another.

"Mum told you that so you wouldn't rely on a hangover potion, so that you wouldn't think that 'drinking alcohol' had no devilish consequences," he smirks, winking at me and taking a gulp. He stays completely still, with his hands open, feigning expectation of the imminent arrival of mucus and pus-filled boils on his skin. Another moment of silence passes and he starts laughing again.

"See? Nothing," he tells me triumphantly. "The potion works like a charm, Gin. Does nothing else but make you feel like you stuck to the water all night. It's a lifesaver."

"You're kidding," I murmur. Not questioning him, just quietly furious I've been taken in all these years. "This whole time I was suffering through hangovers like a, like a—"

"Like a muggle," Charlie concludes. He offers me the potion but I shake my head. "Not still scared are you?"

"No. I don't need it," I tell him.

"Seriously? No drinking on a Hen Night? Didn't you and Hermione do anything fun last night?" Charlie asks, incredulous. He tuts and waves his finger at me, clearly thinking that he's hilarious.

_Fun?_ Surely as pedestrian a word as 'good' for describing what Hermione and I did last night.

"Well…" I start, feeling my face flush. All possible explanations, excuses or reasons evaporate from my mind. A shuddering snore originating from Bill interrupts my thoughts.

"Wait. Bill and I snore," Charlie says suddenly, looking at me curiously.

"What?" I blink.

"Bill and I _snore._ You know that. Surely the two of us have to be worse than Hermione. We're terrible. I woke him up with my snoring, the Git wakes me up to tell me that I've woken him. We sleep. Then _he_ wakes _me_ up with his bloody snoring. Can't imagine that Hermione's worse than us—" Charlie rambles on.

"Harry left," I blurt out, hoping to divert his attention entirely.

"What?" Charlie asks, blinking rapidly. "What do you mean he left? He was just here. He was out last night. He came home with us."

"He left me," I tell him, breathing heavily. "Harry and I are over."

"Oh, Gin," Charlie softens, sliding from the bed onto his knees. He moves over to me and crushes me to him in a one-armed hug. "I'm so sorry. When did this happen?"

"Last night."

"Oh, Ginny. Before the wedding and everything," Charlie murmurs, rubbing my back. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," I tell him.

"Liar. No you're not," he scoffs, moving back to look at me. I'm sure he expects me to be in floods of tears. "You'll work it out, though?"

"No. We won't," I reply, my tone communicating my absolute certainty.

"You're sure?" I don't even have to nod to affirm this. "Why? What happened? We all thought that… that…" he trails off, but it is obvious what he's trying to say.

"You all thought Harry and I would be next," I finish quietly. "Because he proposed. The next wedding. The next happy couple down the aisle."

"Yeah. Something like that," Charlie murmurs, pulling me to him again. "On the bright side: I'm gonna let you keep the T-Shirt."

"Get off," I laugh, attempting to push him away. But he just holds me tightly to his side and kisses my forehead.

"We all do love Harry," Charlie says hesitantly. "But you know that if he _ever_ did anything to you—"

"He didn't do anything," I correct quickly, turning to face him. "Harry did nothing wrong. It was me."

"You?" Charlie's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

I don't know how to possibly explain all the ways in which it was 'me'.

"Did he cheat on you?" he asks, his voice inflecting unnaturally high.

"No," I shake my head, looking down at my bare knees. Time to be honest with someone. "I did. I cheated on him."

"Oh," Charlie coughs. I expect he's not looking at me now. "Who is he? Is he coming to the wedding? Do I know him?"

I glance over at Bill, hoping for another well-timed snore or perhaps to wake up altogether and interrupt this bombardment of questions.

"Ginny?" Charlie urges me. "Who is he?"

He will not rest until he knows the name, postcode and job of whatever man he thinks I'm dallying with. Charlie will not be sated with a lie.

"N-not. Not 'he'," I swallow, daring to look up at him. He's staring at me intently, as if constant watch will break me. It might have. "I cheated on him with a woman."

There it is. There's the danger of letting secrets out, even just to one soul. Because when they surface once, it seems easier to spill them over and over again.

"Oh." Charlie's throat makes the sort of high pitched squeaking noise that he probably hasn't heard since puberty.

"Women, actually," I correct myself, my mouth drying up. "Several. Actually. I told you it's not his fault. It's me."

"Well," Charlie muses, nodding his head and staring out the window. "Well, I'm a bit surprised but can't say I didn't know."

"Liar," I challenge him.

"Really, Ginny. I've known you inside out from day zero. Your day zero that is. I had you for a whole year before I went to school," he recalls fondly.

I want to roll my eyes as he reminiscences but it's actually touching.

"That lump there," Charlie says, pointing his thumb behind him at an unconscious Bill, "was away to Hogwarts for his second year weeks after you were born. And when he was here - he just wanted to get back there and do magic. I was the oldest boy in the house for a year and I took care of you. You were special. You were different."

"I was a girl," I tell him flatly. "I mean, I am girl."

"Yeah," he shrugs. "But that's not to say you weren't special. Percy hated babies because of the way the Twins were; Fred and George were more concerned with reeking havoc and Ron was still tiny himself. So I had you all to myself."

"Suppose I was good practice for Jeffrey," I say softly.

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at the thought of his dragon. "Nah. He's much better behaved than you were."

"Shut up," I huff, hitting his chest.

"Well, who is she?" he asks abruptly.

"I thought you said you knew me inside out," I smirk.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I've got someone following you," Charlie rolls his eyes. "I'm not _that_ obsessive. How would I know?"

"You don't know her," I tell him quietly.

"So there is just one, then?" he surmises, trying to wheedle more information out of me. He's had years of practice.

"Yes. No," I sigh. "There has been more than one. But really, there is only one. And she's not…"

"Into you?" Charlie guesses hesitantly.

"Available. And… I don't know," I sigh again, feeling my world deflate. "I really don't know. It's over. Not that it ever happened. But it's over for her."

"Not for you?" Charlie urges gently.

"Not for me," I mumble as he slips a hand in mine. "I'm in too deep now. It won't be over for me for a very long time. If ever."

"You'll move on, you'll find someone new – someone better," Charlie tells me confidently. "I have full faith that the ladies will not let you slip by."

I give him a watery smile and then brush my eyes furiously, wondering when it was that I started crying.

"I mean, I'm definitely not going to introduce Lena to you now," Charlie says, mockingly shaking his head. "The rest of the family – fine. No worries there. But I don't want you sweeping my girlfriend off her feet."

"Shut up," I wail, pushing him away and giggling.

"I'm serious. You're a stud," Charlie jests, trying to tickle me like I'm four years old again.

"A stud?" I echo, escaping his grasp and looking at him disapprovingly. "Well seeing that you grew up in the eighties. Stud? Merlin, Charlie."

"Whatever," he laughs, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet. "You want to beat the sleeping herds and get some breakfast before this very _long_ and very _boring_ day commences?"

I grimace. Boring isn't the word I'd use.

He holds out his hand to me and I take it. He pulls me up in one swift move and a pouch unravels itself and falls onto the hardwood floor.

"What's that?" Charlie asks as he notices it before I do.

"That," I sigh, bending down to pick it up. "That's the rings. The wedding rings. Harry gave it to me to give to you. He wants you to be best man. He says he's going to try and get back but he won't. He won't be back."

I pass the pouch to Charlie and he stuffs it in the pocket of his shorts without a second look. He just nods solemnly and glances over at Bill again. He turns to me and grins.

"C'mon. We'll never get anything to eat if that arse gets downstairs first."


	16. Chapter 16

Charlie gallops ahead of me, clearly eager to eat. I muse whether it's a side effect of the hangover potion or just him being his typical ravenous self. I'm so caught in my head as I come down the stairs, just floating along like a self-flying broom. I'm not aware I'm on the first floor and am currently scuffing past my own bedroom door. I don't notice the door open and consequently flat out crash into Hermione.

She drops her toiletry bag but doesn't make any move to pick it up. She just stares at me. Right through me, right into the very depths of me. I can't look away now. She's got me, once again.

" _This was a one off mistake. This was cold feet, this was nothing!"_

I don't notice what she's wearing or what state her hair might be in because I can see nothing but the deep brown of her eyes. She doesn't look at me with anger or affection or sorrow, but disdain. _That's_ how she chooses to see me. As something lesser, something to be pitied; the puppy that she stroked once and now it won't stop following her around. That's how she makes me feel.

" _I'm not like Ginny. I'm not. You know that. You know me._

I know that I'm angry. I am innately aware of every drop of hatred coursing through my veins. Some part of me feels entirely consumed by the rage. The rage which makes my nails sharper, my voice shriller and my eyes blaze that bit more dangerously. The rage which tells any spectator – _Do not fuck with me today._

But standing before her I am completely at a loss to express or even fully feel the fires of fury burning within. They've been dulled and quelled by the very sight over her.

Ironically, this makes me all the angrier.

Neither one of us is going to say anything, that much is clear. I can't help feeling like a silly child who's out of her depth in Hermione's presence. I don't understand this, I can't understand her. I do truly feel this all is beyond the scope of my imagination – which is saying something. The dagger twists; a sharp twinge of pain hits me and I believe I am actually clutching my side. She looks at me with some alarm.

" _It was a terrible, awful mistake."_

I know she wants to ask "What's wrong?" or "What the Hell was that?" but she doesn't go either way. Her lips are parted but nothing escapes. And now it's gone. Whatever shred of concern she had has left her now. She is completely void of voice and now of emotion. Her expression is blank and impassive but her fists are clenched. For a split second, I wonder if she'll hit me. I wonder if I'd hit her back.

I'm almost tempted into a pre-emptive strike as every touch, every word from our night in that very room behind her flashes through my mind. It dazzles me, knocks me off balance and then astounds me how we've gotten from there to here in a mere few hours. A dull pleasurable stabbing sensation reverberates through me; it comes from deep inside every time I involuntarily conjure up an image of her flesh pressed to mine.

" _When you touch me, I go to pieces."_

This is it. She's destroying me again. Stripping the pieces down and scattering them so that I have no hope of recovery.

The only thing that could make this worse would be a meaningless apology, which I sense is on the horizon. The cursory 'I never mean to hurt you' and unless that's followed with 'I know I've been a bastard' then I really don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything she has to say.

So instead of letting her haemorrhage meaningless words, I turn sharply and bound downstairs in pursuit of my brother.

-

Charlie and I don't get much peace as the house rouses for the day. We've barely sat down to eat before trickles of hungry people invade. Before long, nearly the entire family – save for the happy couple – is seated around the table with Mum dishing out breakfasts in a particulary haphazard manner. She's anxious about the day, I can tell.

"Ginny dear, take this up to Hermione would you?" Mum asks, holding out a plate of sausages, eggs and toast.

"No!" I cry, completely aghast. Everyone's too busy eating that they hardly notice my irrational outrage at such a simple task. They could just think me lazy or stubborn. That would be completely fine with me.

Mum doesn't even seem to have heard me. She's still holding Hermione's breakfast out with one hand while she uses her wand hand to charm the simmering water.

Charlie looks up at me, thoughtfully chewing a rasher of bacon. I've told him too much. He must suspect… he must think—

"S'all right, Mum. I'll get it," he offers with a cough, getting up from the table.

"Thanks Charlie," she murmurs, still concentrating on seven other tasks. "Will you wake Ron and Harry up while you're there? Ask them what they'd like. Tell Ron I'll make him anything he wants."

"He's not here," Charlie tells Mum hesitantly as he takes the proffered plate before she drops it as she whirls round.

"What?" she half-screams, panicking. The rest of the people at the table look equally worried. "Where is he? Where has he gone? Oh, I will kill him!"

"He left last night," Charlie replies quietly and Mrs Granger makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. Dad groans and even Fred and George look troubled.

"What possible reason could he have for running out the night before his wedding?" Mum demands of Charlie, expecting that he has all the answers.

Charlie laughs nervously and turns to everyone, shaking his free hand apologetically. "No, _no._ Ron hasn't left. He's upstairs. Comatose, probably. Harry left."

"Harry left?" Mum echoes, relaxing slightly but looking slightly perturbed. There are murmurs from the table as everyone expresses their relief that the groom has, in fact, not done a runner, but it's the Best Man instead.

"He's gutted that he had something really urgent come up at work," Charlie says coolly, making the cover story sound more plausible than I ever could. "He'll try and make it back but we shouldn't count on it."

"Oh, no," Mum sighs, looking thoroughly disappointed. "Does Ron know?"

"I'll tell him," Charlie replies with a swift nod and takes to the stairs.

"Oh, what a shame," Mum sighs again.

_-_

_The heat of the plate started to scald Charlie's arm (which he was surprised at, being that he thought he had a remarkable tolerance for burns as his beloved dragons had inflicted so many upon him) as he balanced the breakfast and a mug of tea while knocking on Ginny's bedroom door._

" _Hermione? It's Charlie. You awake? You get breakfast served in room on account of your wedding," he called through the door._

_She didn't have him wait long and opened the door to receive her meal. Charlie rushed in and quickly set the plate and mug down onto Ginny's uncluttered desk. He turned to her and smiled widely, his hands on his hips as he surveyed her clothing._

" _You're getting married in jeans. Very modern," he approved jokingly. "I have a cracking T-Shirt if you're interested…"_

" _I've already seen it," Hermione replied wryly taking the hot mug in her hands and having a sip._

" _So I suppose you and Ron are banished to your rooms until the ceremony," Charlie said looking over at Ginny's untidy bed. "It's like you're grounded."_

_Hermione just gave him a funny look with a raised eyebrow and took a bite of her toast. There wasn't much to add to that attempt at a joke._

" _So. Um. Not to spoil your Big Day but there's something someone needs to tell you at some point," Charlie said cryptically. Hermione paused, looking like a startled hamster with her cheeks full of bread._

" _What?" Hermione mumbled, attempting to swallow._

" _Uh. Well. Harry's gone," Charlie said quietly._

" _Oh," Hermione said in a clear voice. She didn't look so much startled as mildly worried. "Why's that?"_

" _Work," Charlie shrugged. "If he doesn't make it back, then I'm the substitute. Ask Bill, I'm a great Best Man. I am, in fact, the best Best Man. So you should have no worries."_

" _It'll be fine," Hermione nodded quickly, not really wanting to engage in the topic._

" _You OK? I know it means a lot to you both for Harry to be here…" he trailed off._

" _I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," Hermione said a little too pleasantly. She swore at herself internally, feeling that she was channelling the false and malicious saccharine nature of one Dolores Umbridge._

_-_

"Ginny?" a voice calls after me. Ron. It could only be Ron. And I'd hoped I could scurry back upstairs and hide under Bill's bed until this Hell subsided. The child in me had hoped that maybe they wouldn't even find me for the ceremony if I put my hands over my eyes. Because if you can't see them, nobody sees you.

I don't think that would work right now.

A sliver of Ron's face is visible through the small gap between frame and door as he shields the rest of his body. I'm presuming this is so no one else sees him.

"Yeah?" I say flatly.

"Can you help me?" he whispers, holding an arm out and beckoning me.

"With what?"

"Stuff," Ron mutters, his visible eye sweeping the hallway.

"If it's your vows or something, then I swear I'll—" I start, the vitriol barely concealed.

"No, don't be daft. They've been written for years," Ron laughs bitterly, stretching further so that his hand grasps my shoulder. "Just stop being such a bitch and come help me."

Who could refuse such an invitation? In my head I try to reel through every hateful, sarcastic, snarky insult or comment about this brother. I have plenty. The duration of my seventh year was dedicated to this end. I attempt to let the bile coat me; to shield me from the disgustingly painful feelings of regret and remorse that have seized hold of me. The self-depreciatingly honest confession regarding his vows reminds me of just how long and desperately he has wanted this day. And that none of this is his fault. I've always known I have no right to hate him. He never knew. He's never done wrong by me. Not intentionally.

If I hadn't waded into this situation so deeply that I can't even see the shore, then this wouldn't hurt me half as much as it does. If I wasn't so numb I could've reacted with those so-called Quidditch reflexes and bolted down the stairs. If I wasn't such an idiot I would've made up some plausible excuse to not help him and wouldn't be in this room, alone with him for the first time in years.

But I'm not that stable, fast or clever. I am in this room and he shuts the door firmly behind me. He's wearing a towel round his waist with another bath sheet around his shoulders, obscuring his torso. He's never been comfortable parading down to breakfast in just bottom pyjamas like most of my brothers.

"I need your advice on my hair," Ron breathes out, turning to look at himself in the mirror and running a hand through the damp mop.

"You're kidding," I reply, resisting the urge to hang my mouth open. "You've only got a few hours… Why haven't you been to the hairdressers? Mum let that one slip by."

"She didn't, actually. She's been bugging me for months," Ron sighs, pushing his too-long fringe in his eyes. "I don't want to ask Mum 'cause she'll either bitch at me or give me a hideous haircut. And obviously I can't ask Hermione."

"Obviously," I mumble but I don't even think he hears me as he's too preoccupied by his reflection.

"I should've done this earlier. I can't cut my own hair," he moans. "Last time I nearly singed my ear off and gave myself a brutal scar to match Harry's. I just can't direct a wand when I'm watching in the mirror."

"Well, I'm hardly adept at magically cutting hair, Ron," I mutter. "There's every chance I'll cut your ear off or whatever."

"Yeah, but you're a girl. You'll be loads better at this," Ron reasons, turning to me.

"Contrary to your imagination, Ronald, that time in second year when all the girls are taken away for a 'private talk' – It wasn't concerning hair care," I snipe. I can't help it, I can't help being so hostile.

"Yeah. But. You know. You know this stuff better than me," Ron stutters, blushing.

"No, Ron. I get my hair cut by a professional. Most people do nowadays, you know. Magical and muggles alike," I tell him sarcastically. He stares at me like I've just broken his wand.

"Well, what about the muggle way then?" he suggests, seizing his wand and opening his bedroom door slightly. Before I can answer, he's summoned a pair of gleaming silver scissors and presses them into my hands.

"Right," I sigh, defeated. He grins and pulls a chair up to the mirror and sits expectantly. I wonder if my dear brother realises how potentially dangerous it could be to trust me with something sharp.

He holds a comb out over his shoulder and waves it, beckoning me to take it. I do and reluctantly thread it through his hair. It's now that I realise this is the first time that I've touched Ron of my own volition in years.

He breathes out and settles down.

"So what do you want?" I ask in a low voice.

"Whatever you think is best," Ron replies cheerfully, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "I'm not bothered. I trust you."

My stomach clenches and there's a burning inside that I can't quite describe. Those words aren't meant to wound.

I set to work in silence and for his part, Ron obliges me that. I have no idea what I'm doing and I do my utmost to concentrate on the task at hand. But my mind won't stop going to the places I especially don't want to be. Every time I think of Hermione or our earlier meeting in the hall or any other event over the past few days, my stomach tightens and my throat closes up. When I remember how it feels to be kissed by her, I nearly lop half of his hair off. Panicked and paranoid that somehow Ron might see what I'm thinking, I snip away at his hair frantically with no clue what I'm doing.

Ron looks serene and completely at ease with me brandishing a pair of scissors so near to his defenceless throat. He sits like a man with nothing to fear and no indication of the terrible things that he's not meant to know. Because he doesn't know. He's blissfully unaware that his Betrothed's hands – which he is soon to hold during the ceremony – were responsible for the pinnacle of my ecstasy only hours ago.

I swallow the ever-rising lump in my throat, attempt to clear my head and focus once again. I breathe out steadily and catch a glance in the mirror.

He's watching me. He's been watching me the whole time. In the sickest parts of my mind, I see flashes of last night with Hermione and he's standing in the doorway, watching us impassively the entire time. For a second, I am consummately sure that he was there.

"Ginny, it's been ages since we've really talked or hung out or whatever," he speaks up, noticing that he now has my attention.

"Yeah," I mumble, trying to cut another piece of hair but my vision blurs caused by the intensity of my stare.

"Years, really," Ron shrugs, which almost causes me to slice his scalp.

"Yeah," I repeat, pretending to survey over the side that I've already done.

"When I heard that you and Harry were back together, I thought I'd see you all the time. Like Hermione and I and you and Harry all going out together, you know?"

My throat's dried up and I can no longer utter the lazy affirmative. Instead I just nod.

"But every time we tried to get a group thing going, you seemed to have stuff going on at work. It just never really worked out," Ron muses, his gaze wandering to the window and the world outside. "It's weird. Cause I see Harry all the time. So as much as I think that you and Harry are great together, I've never properly _seen_ you together. Strange."

I nod again, tentatively running the comb through his hair. This is Ron. This is my brother who's never wanted anything but the best for me. Who I used to squabble and play fight with as a child. The one who's always been on my side, whether he's wants to be or not: it's the great unspoken rule of the Weasley siblings. The one who scrutinised my school boyfriends' worthiness. The one who has no idea of the pain he has caused me and how deeply I despise him for that.

Sharply, he turns to me, holding onto the back of the chair and staring hard. "Harry's not coming to the wedding and I know it's my fault. I told Harry to propose again last night and unless I'm a complete idiot, I'm guessing that you turned him down."

"Ron…" His name cuts my throat like it wants to tear it out.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault that he pushed. I'm really sorry. I was just so sure this is what you always wanted," he tells me plainly, truthfully, earnestly. "Don't blame him for not knowing that you're not ready, or whatever. Find him and make it up and I promise I'll keep well away from it, all right?"

Oh God. His absolute ignorance of this whole dirty, messy affair makes me want to smash his face into the mirror and collapse in a sobbing confession all at the same time. I've undisputedly betrayed him and if he ever knew what I've done to him, then he'd detest me with every drop of the hate I feel for him.

My stomach seizes up again and my face burns. Something is coming.

"I'm sure this'll be forgotten about in years and years," he smiles, turning back round to face his reflective twin. "We'll laugh about it when Hermione, me and the kids are round at yours and Harry's for Christmas dinner and the cousins are throwing a Quaffle about the back garden."

This Utopic vision sickens me further. My entire body reacts as my mind paints a clear picture of the future that should be. His hope for this big happy family forces me into a role I cannot fit. I was cast a lifetime ago and I don't slot in with the ease that's expected. I'm the defective jigsaw piece leftover on the carpet with no place.

"You know what?" I tell Ron shakily, trying to fight back the rising acid. "You need to get Bill to do this. I can't. Bill's hand is steadier than mine, it'd have to be, breaking into tombs and decrypting sensitive objects and all that," I laugh nervously, handing him the scissors.

"Ginny—" he says, startled.

"Sorry," I manage to force out before clamping a hand over my mouth and tearing to the bathroom. I slam the door behind me and fumble with the lock before sinking to my knees in front of the porcelain bowl and letting every feeling, every impulse, every horrible thing inside me spill into it. For several moments, I can't breathe and I'm sure I'm going to choke on my own ire. I don't. I slump against the wall, feeling no less horrid and let my tears flow.

-

 _Charlie sat outside and vacantly stared at the final preparations for the ceremony. Hermione's reaction to Harry's probable absence was bothering him somewhat – There just seemed to be something_ off _about it but he couldn't riddle it out. Fred and George, who had been checking on the progress of their flowers, approached him, grinning, and plonked themselves on either side of their brother._

" _So seeing as you're best man now, it's your responsibility to liven this wedding up a bit," Fred told his older brother, swinging a friendly arm around Charlie's shoulder._

" _Yeah. Because let's face it: Weddings are dull," George shook his head, putting his arm around the opposite side from Fred._

" _Completely dull. So dull I could keel over and die," Fred moaned, slapping a hand to his forehead for dramatic effect._

" _You know. Unless someone leaves someone. Or someone doesn't show up. Or someone shouts 'I object!'" George reasoned. Charlie tried to shrug off the twins' hold on him and ignore their usual nonsense but they held fast._

" _Now. So far, we haven't been able to bribe or beg anyone with little or no scruples to storm in pretending to be Hermione's ex-lover or Ron's baby mummy," Fred rolled his eyes in mock annoyance._

" _So we think that leaves you up at the side of the altar in the perfect position of trust and visibility. Perhaps a song and dance right before the vows? Maybe some Screaming Streamers? Or – If you feel like it – Peruvian Darkness powder. That'll be fun for a while," George reeled off their suggestions whilst he snickered._

" _I'd go for the song and dance, myself," Fred advised. "There's just a ton of sad, old aunties who love to salivate over your arse packed into tight Dragon-hide trousers. You'll have no shortage of drinks at the reception."_

" _Wait a minute –" Charlie demanded, managing to extricate himself from between the pair. "You tell me when you've ever seen me wearing Dragon-hide trousers? Hmm?"_

" _Well,_ **we** _don't look at your arse mate," Fred replied, confused. "How the Hell are we supposed to know what you're wearing? You're in Romania half the sodding time!"_

" _No. It's this common perception that I wear Dragon-hide trousers – Which is something I would never, ever do," Charlie said, vexed. He was working himself into a state without the help of his two trouble-making siblings. "I work with dragons, I care for dragons, I love dragons – Why the Hell would anyone think I'd_ **wear** _a dragon?"_

" _Eh. Dunno, mate," George mumbled, looking at the ground._

" _Yeah, dunno," Fred concurred, his head low._

" _Exactly. That's like saying to a dog breeder, or trainer, or whatever – 'Oh, where's that coat made with fur of a thousand puppies? Or complimenting Hagrid on his Blast-Ended Skrewt scarf."_

" _Eh? Puppy coat? That's just sick," George scoffed._

" _Sick and wrong, mate," Fred said, furrowing his brow. "You're not right in the head, you are, if you can come up with crap like that."_

" _Well_ _ **I**_ _didn't," Charlie said impatiently. "My girlfriend—"_

" _Oh, it's your girlfriend who's the Puppy Killer now, is it?" George interrupted as he and his twin looked at each other disapprovingly._

" _She better be stunning if she's going about murdering dogs," Fred warned. "If she's ugly_ _ **and**_ _a puppy strangler then you're out your box going with her."_

" _It's from a movie!" Charlie exclaimed, knowing that the Twins were deliberately derailing the conversation for their own amusement. "She's muggle-born and she makes me watch films. It's pretend."_

" _Oh, right," George shrugged._

" _Why didn't you say so?"_

" _Because you're half-wits. Actually - the two of you barely have half a wit between you and it's difficult for you to grasp more than one concept at a time," Charlie bit back._

" _Uncalled for," George grumbled._

" _We've plenty of wit," Fred said through pursed lips._

" _We've wit to spare, in fact," George grinned, nudging his identical brother._

" _We got more than our fair share of the family wit," Fred smiled. "I mean, we definitely got_ **all** _of Percy's. Probably quite a bit of yours as well."_

" _Sure," Charlie sighed as he turned to walk away from the Twins._

" _Wait!" Fred called. "We hadn't finished all the ideas we had for fun at this boring wedding."_

" _Yeah. We're opening a book on the outcome," George said. "I'll give you good odds on Ron's bottle crashing and him not turning up."_

" _Not so good odds on Harry showing up, though," Fred shrugged. "Nice for the outside bet."_

" _We've got great accumulator prices!" George shouted after him as Charlie shook his head and walked away._

_-_

_Alohomora!_

A dull searing pain wakens me and for several moments I can't remember where I am. Bathroom, evidently. And what am I doing here? The cold side of my face tells me I was sleeping on the tiles. I look up at the intruder who inadvertently smacked my head with the door.

"W-What?" I mumble, dancing flecks of black clouding my vision. As they fade, it's predictably the only person currently in this house that might be looking for me.

"Ginny, what are you doing up here? Do you know what time it is?" Charlie asks quickly, stooping to help me up before I nudge him away.

"What time is it?" I mutter, holding my head and dragging my body up using the towel rail.

"It's nearly three in the afternoon, Ginny!" Charlie exclaims. "What - did you hit your head and pass out?"

"No. I passed out then _you_ hit me on the head," I grumble, raising my head to look in the mirror. Charlie looks sheepish behind me, casting his gaze to the door and back.

"I… Sorry… I just… I didn't think to look in here. I thought Ron was in here and… sorry," he stammers, watching me as I splash cold water on my face and neck. "And how did you end up going for a sleep on the bathroom floor anyway?"

"I only got a few hours last night," I yawn, feeling no less sick than I did before naptime. "You know that."

"Yes," he says impatiently as he watches my slow motion waking routine. "But the ceremony starts in an hour. And since I'm already Best Man, I can't be Bridesmaid as well."

"You'd look better in that dress than me," I yawn again, sitting down on the toilet seat cover.

"Ginny, seriously, you need to get a move on. Hermione's been in the Bridal tent for an hour with her mother. She's probably been wondering where you are."

"I doubt it," I breathe out, splashing more water on my face to try and invigorate my body but, to be honest, the best plan of action seems to be lying on the cold bathroom floor and barricading the door.

-

A temporary enchanted clock hangs in the middle of the Bridal tent which is pitched mere feet from the end of the aisle. The hands and numbers couldn't be more clear when telling me exactly how much more of this I have to endure. Mere minutes and the band will start to play and this end will begin.

When I finally woke myself and was ushered here by Charlie, Hermione was already in her dress. A fleeting look of her in that white monstrosity was enough. I took my own dress and hurried to the curtained changing rooms. I'm still hidden in here, well over half an hour later. I'm dressed, my hair is done, makeup flawless and now I'm just pretending to be busy so I don't have to go back out there.

Like a few days ago only a lonely white draping curtain separates me from her and I hope that'll be sufficient this time. Actually, that's a lie. I do have an added layer of protection: Alison Granger. I shudder to think what may have happened had I been left alone with Hermione.

"Ginny? Are you finished in there yet?" Mrs Granger calls over. She's been checking on me every few minutes for the past ten. I surely can't hold her off any longer.

"Just coming, Mrs Granger," I mumble in my best polite fuck-off voice that I can muster.

"I need your opinion on the veil!" she says in a sing-song.

"Right!" I reply, a little too snappish than intended but she's too engrossed in flowers and veils to notice. I pull back the curtain and Alison Granger spins round immediately.

"You look lovely, Ginny. You must be happy Hermione didn't put you in a 'traditional' type of bridesmaid dress!"

"Very, very happy," I reply, convincing her with a beatific smile. Hesitantly I steal a look at Hermione to see if she's watching me; however, the ground beneath her feet seems to be offering far more thrills than anything in this tent.

"Now, Ginny, would you say this is sitting right?" Alison asks, focussing her attention on her daughter once more.

"It looks fine," I swallow, being forced to look at her once more. Hermione, eyes still cast downwards, stands there lifeless as if she were the perfect mannequin in a shop window or still muggle picture in a brochure. This is the impeccable, impenetrable, glacial Bride. Young girls would only need to look at her to fantasize what their own wedding could be like years from now.

She could be a corpse for all the signs of life and magic emanating from her presently. This surely cannot be the same woman I'm in love with.

"You're sure? What about if I do this?" she asks, fidgeting with the glorified netting surrounding Hermione's head. I can't see a bloody bit of difference.

"No, you're right, that's much better," I tell her, hoping that will satisfy the mothers' need to groom her cub once more before it leaves the den for good.

"Yes, I think you're right," she sighs. Alison fluffs the veil once more, clearly not able to help herself. She stands back, hand over heart as she takes in her daughter's form on her wedding day.

"Perfect. Oh, just perfect. Doesn't she look beautiful, Ginny?"

I force a ridiculous smile and make a strangled noise that could be construed as an affirmative.

The hour fast approaches. I turn away and I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out Mrs Granger's constant wittering and her daughters mono-syllabic responses. It won't be long until this is all over and I can get as far away from this place, this country, this life and start a new one. I don't have to go back to the flat. I can just summon anything I need and go. Catch the next Portkey out of here and never see any of these faces again. Owl Percy from beside a pool in sweltering heat with a tall, colourful glass of alcoholic anything. Throw myself into new work and revel in finally having some sort of purpose. Stop meandering along, continually making all the wrong choices and giving into every wrong instinct and build a life to be proud of.

This haven I'm imagining, somewhere in a gorgeous location in Western Europe, is looking less and less appealing with the notable absence of the woman in the white dress or the girl with the incredibly neat school uniform or the figure in the black silk nightdress. Anywhere I escape to is a place that she will not be.

I lived years of my life since Hogwarts without seeing or knowing Hermione and I managed to survive a pathetic, empty reality. But I survived, mostly due to blissful ignorance. I'm not ignorant any longer. The barely healed scar's been burst wide open and now it hurts as much as it ever did. Everything has been realised in this past week. Now that I've truly been with her, I don't know if I can exist in a life where she does not. Whether she's making me crazy, or running from me in the rain, or stalking me like helpless prey, or calling me whore or climbing into my bed in the middle of the night – Every moment will be unequalled by anything or anyone from this minute onward. From the delectable highs to the devastating lows: there is no one else in the world like her.

There is a voice behind the white canopy requesting to come in. I don't want to turn around. The less I see of her the better.

It's time. It's Hermione's dad here to give her away and it's time.

Hermione's mother takes one last emotional look at her daughter before taking her seat. She kisses her lightly on the cheek, attempting not to smudge makeup I'm sure, and gives my arm a squeeze as she trots past.

I fix my eyes firmly to the front. This is it. I will lead the charge; I'm just cannon fodder.

I hear Hermione's dad whispering to her and I wonder what he's saying. Hermione's reply: "Yes, of course" gives me little to speculate about.

The music starts. Not the Wedding March, of course. That's not for me. Just the soft orchestral score which will prompt my ascendancy into delightful madness.

I feel like this is absolutely the last chance now. The absolute last chance that I'll have to talk to her; to convince her; to remind her of exactly what she's doing. I want to turn and grab her shoulders, shake her, pull off her veil and kiss her. I want to tell her that _this_ is real and right and pure and true – Not this place with a ridiculous white dress, entrapping rings and aisle lined with beautiful thorned roses and every distant friend or close acquaintance. My kiss would be so deep and so drowning that the spectators would be forgotten, this sham ritual would be abandoned and there would be nothing in the world but this.

I am half a breath from doing this when her dad leans forward and puts his mouth to my ear and murmurs, "Ginny – I think that's your cue."

And the chance is gone. There's no turning back now as I duck under the hanging white drapes of the bridal canopy and start my slow torturous march to my pre-designated place at the side of the altar.

Everyone cranes their necks to watch me. Some look behind me, expecting the Bride at any moment. Others (including my mother) stare at me as if I'm a two-headed Nargle – or whatever. It seems that not only is this moment excruciatingly slow in my head, but I'm not moving any faster to the naked eye either. I try to pick up the pace but my legs start to shake, the way they might after seven straight hours of Quidditch and I'm not quite sure how to walk on the earth anymore.

I hate the way that Charlie is looking at me from the top of the aisle. The concern on his face makes me want to vomit in fear and panic. In the crowd, on Hermione's side, sit Alicia and Katie. Katie beams at me, clearly too swept up in the emotion of the day that she hasn't realised how slowly I'm crawling up the aisle or how petrified I look. Alicia looks at me with deep empathy and sorrow; she looks regretful that she knows how painful this is for me but can't do anything about it. That small look helps me not to feel so wretched. I take a deep breath, continue and Ron's beaming face becomes more clear to me as I approach the finish line.

I wonder if she wanted me to feel like this. I wonder if she's punishing me loving her or for her failings. I wonder if this was all purely an accident that neither of us saw it within ourselves to rectify: This mistake that I should wear a hideous dress, carry repugnant flowers and herald the arrival of the happy Wife-To-Be the day after I gave everything I am and can be to her.

The opening notes of the Wedding March chime. In my head it sounds like the dull drone of the Death Knell. A mass shuffle as everyone rises to their feet and turns to the Bride.

I wonder if I'll ever forgive her for this.

Probably never.

As Hermione inches down the aisle, I realise that it's the first time she's seen Ron since she licked the sweat from my neck and kissed every part of me.

If my heart wasn't screaming, perhaps I'd be able to hear hers. Perhaps if I slow down and let the music die in my ears, I'd be able to hear how fast hers is beating. Or perhaps it's perfectly calm. Perhaps she's walking toward exactly what she's always wanted.

I have no idea what she's thinking, feeling, wanting. Did I ever?

Her journey is somehow shorter than mine as her father kisses her bare cheek. She turns defiantly to Ron and hands her bouquet to me without looking. Her gloved hand touches my bare skin and I have to bite my lip to keep from sobbing. My eyes are watering but everyone expects that at a wedding.

This isn't stopping. I can see it all at once and then nothing at all. It's all careering towards a dead end with no signs of slowing. She's like the broom you hoped would never disappoint you. The one you pined over in the shop window and when you finally got your hands on it, it was the greatest day of life. It was all so wonderful and so temporary. Because everything breaks and everyone falls.

It takes you up higher than you've ever dared to go on any broom before it. From a thousand feet up in the clouds, the broom starts to fail. It's uncontrollable, it's hurtling directly downwards and it's inevitable that you will smash into the ground and shatter into a million tiny pieces and be scattered amongst the splinters and skelfs that used to be that incredible broom you once loved. It was the death of you.

It's not stopping, it's not slowing. It seems inevitable now more than ever. Every moment from the aisle, to the vows, to the rings, to the kiss - it should stop. It's meant to stop. This isn't supposed to be happening. I really believed this wasn't supposed to be happening.

I watch her with absent breath, thinking every muscle flex she makes or every time she parts her lips it is to shout for this all to end. Instead she's reciting her name and her promises to him. The convincing honour with which she takes her vows is the true mark of a liar.

The smallest, truest part of me believed she wouldn't actually go through with this – that she might actually run and live happily ever after with me. That after we made love things could never go back to a dirty clandestine indiscretion. It was too strong and too powerful to deny or smother now. Last night changed everything. I felt it change.

Evidently, it did not change everything for her. She's standing there, looking at my brother and saying those words back to him. Oh God. This isn't happening. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

_But exactly how it's supposed to be._

Oh God, please stop. I can't believe this. Why isn't this stopping? This should be stopping. Is she waiting for me? Is this my cue? Am I missing my absolutely final last chance?

I can't move.

Were I to scream for this insanity to end, I know she'd surely reject me because she's _who she's supposed to be with._ Then I am alone in my utter desolation once everyone finds out what's been going on. Which they're likely to if I stand up and proclaim my love for her. Hermione Granger-Weasley, the absolute worst person in the world to be in love with at this precise moment.

Who am I kidding? Which part of the huge cosmic joke is this? She doesn't want to be with me. She's standing up on that altar. She's saying those vows. She denied everything I know, soul to skin, to be true. She told Harry as much last night. And she's barely acknowledged me since he discovered us.

The overwhelming part of me wants to. Wants to be brave, stand forward and shout that it's a farce and this should NOT be happening. But I can't.

I am paralysed. I am strapped to a chair, eye vices on, arms tied down and neck craned this way. There is nothing else I can see.

_You may kiss the bride._

It's actually over. It's all over.

This was not what was supposed to happen.

Their chaste kiss seals it.

It is done.

My mother and Alison Granger start to cry and wave their hankies as Ron and Hermione skip down the aisle. Every pair of eyes follows them and they all stand up to applaud. The crowd swarms them. They shower the newlyweds with rice and red sparks.

Charlie steps down from his position opposite me to chase his little brother down the aisle. Fred and George ready the special 'surprise' they've been preparing.

And I fall to my knees, left behind. No one can see me now. All I can see is a solid wall of backs as the herd is directed to the reception tent.

It is done.

I fall so fast and hit so hard but it doesn't break my flow of tears. Sobbing hysterically into my bouquet, I cast _Silencio_ on my own voice.

It is done and I am over.

With the last ounce of strength, I drag myself from the ground before anyone can notice me and tear towards the forests at the edge of my childhood home. I push myself through the shrubs and trees, my dress ripping satisfyingly.

I fall to the spongy forest floor. Right where she burned her first dress. Not crying anymore, just lying there. My hope is gone and so are my tears. I'm lying, staring at the meek sunlight trying to force itself through the thick trees. But it is impossible, it will never break through.

Listening only to the birds and my breath, I stare blankly above. Anyone passing by might think me dead. But no one will come by. Everyone is where they should be.

I am alone. It's over. And it's as it should be.


	17. Chapter 17

I like it here. I wonder if I could just stay here. Not forever, of course. But just long enough. Just until enough time has passed so that I feel I might be able to move again.

But for now I'm content enough to lie here with the moss tickling my neck, the charred grass itching my legs and the damp grass in between soaking through the back of my dress. Although no sunlight has stolen through the thick trees, it's still uncomfortably hot. But if I just lie here, really quietly, slow my breathing and close my eyes then it'll all fade away.

I honestly didn't think this is how it would end. That poisonous hope has failed me.

I'm not tired; I don't think I'll ever sleep again. I'll just listen to the birdsong and the rustling leaves and be grateful that I can't hear the celebration and merriment from a tent not too far away.

I don't feel like me. I'm a shadow, a shell. All the good and horrible things that I have done don't seem real anymore. If they are real, then I took no part in them. I'm not the child who was possessed by a diary in her first year. I'm not the girl who struggled to live after that. I'm not the loner who used popularity and prettiness to mask the torment inside. I'm not the teenager who found solace in a friendship of equals with my brothers' best friend. I'm not the love-struck sap who used to live for the tender moments in the Room of Requirement. I'm not the crushed loser who used to sneak to the Hogs Head to drown my sorrows. I'm not the woman who urged Harry to achieve what he really wanted. I'm not the fool who attempted a real, adult relationship with a man I knew I was never really meant to be with. I'm not the girlfriend who lived with the most noble man in the Wizarding world for years while screwing any pretty brunette in heels that looked at me. I'm not the masochist who brought this angry boil to surface by kissing Hermione a week ago. I'm not the finally whole and complete person who endured delirious ecstasy last night. I'm not even the crumpled, hysterical mess who witnessed the final vows of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

Just a hollow shell, a faint shadow.

Any one of those people would have gone out in a fierce blaze. Even at my most horrible or desperate that woman would have made the world notice that she was leaving. This shadow I am now could fade with the setting sun.

From behind my closed eyelids it seems that clouds have blocked out the sun. Then I hear breathing that is not my own.

"Ginny?"

I know it's Charlie before I open my eyes. If anyone's looking for me on this day, it's him.

"Ginny you can't lie there," he says, attempting to scoop up my body, awkwardly twisting as if to avoid getting dirt on himself.

Still limp, I raise my eyes to look at him. "Leave me."

"Ginny—"

"Don't," I murmur, trying to covertly wriggle out of his hold.

"You need to get up!" He snaps and shakes me roughly, trying to haul me to my feet.

"I don't need rescuing, Charlie!" I shout, pushing him away roughly and sitting up on my own. I have been kicked into life once more. One sharp shock was all that's needed. It seems that I cannot fade that easily. I don't know whether or not to be glad of that fact.

He staggers back and regains his footing. He brushes dirt from his trousers and clears his throat.

"I'm not an idiot," he says in a low voice.

"Did I say you were?" I respond in a somewhat hysterical tone.

"It's Hermione, isn't it?" he asks flatly, staring at me. My head bows as I drag myself to my feet.

"I'm leaving tonight, by the way," I inform him haughtily, completely ignoring his accusation. "I'm Apparating to the Portkey station once I get my stuff and I'll be gone."

"You'll still be in love with Hermione, wherever you go," he adds in a low tone.

I bite my lip fiercely and will myself not to swear, not to cry. I've had my moment lying in the dirt and now is the time to raze the earth to ashes.

"Ginny? Just answer me," he implores, trying to catch my eye.

"Congratulations, Charlie, you're right," I reply, somewhat mockingly. "Another point for big brothers observation skills. You are the man, Charlie. Well done."

"Ginny—"

"I'm not going to talk about my feelings for our _now_ sister-in-law," I spit at him, holding up my hands. "I'm not going to tell you how I've been hurting and lying and cheating and wanting for years. How Ron and Harry are just oblivious bystanders and Hermione is a force so intense that not a human on this earth will understand her actions or her motives. It's done. And I'm going."

He opens and closes his mouth several times. I wonder if it's my words that have caused his temporary speechlessness or if it was the admission that Hermione was the girl I'd described. To Charlie, Hermione would never again be _just_ his brother's wife – she was the woman who broke my heart.

-

_Hermione looked along the top table to her parents engaging in deep discussion with several wizards from the Department of Magical Regulation. She wondered what it is they could be talking about – Not magical law enforcement, surely? Percy was alongside them; Hermione wondered if he was translating rather pompously from Wizard to Muggle. Surveying over the rest of the guests in the reception tent, she realised how few she was actually on a conversational basis with. Some Healers and orderlies from St Mungos were here, but she didn't feel compelled to converse with them at that moment. She didn't feel much like mingling at all. It seemed that in an excited room where everyone was throwing down their first and second cocktails of the evening while gibbering to perfect strangers, she seemed to be the only one indifferent to it all._

_Ron hadn't moved to mingle either, but she was sure that was because he didn't want to leave her sitting here. He waved to people and exchanged jibes with his brothers while squeezing her hand under the table. He must just have thought her overwhelmed by it all._

_Ron leaned in closely to Hermione's ear and whispered, "Do you know why Harry's_ **really** _not here?"_

" _No," Hermione replied edgily. "I mean… There's no 'real reason', Ron. It's work, isn't it?"_

" _Harry would never miss our wedding for work," Ron scoffed, fingering the rim of his champagne glass. "Trust me."_

" _Well, if he-"_

" _No," Ron cut her off. "I don't know if Ginny's let you know, I don't even know one hundred percent that it's true, but when I confronted her she didn't deny it."_

" _She didn't?" Hermione replied throatily, swallowing a near full glass of champagne in one gulp. Before the glass had hit the table, it was refilled. She decided it would be excruciatingly easy to get completely rat-arsed at her wedding with service like that._

" _She's really easy to read, my sister is," Ron murmured into her ear. Hermione felt her entire body consumed by frozen dread. When Ron touched her fingertips with his, she felt they may crack like delicate icicles._

" _She is?" Hermione replied dubiously, removing her hand from under his and numbly smoothing back her hair._

" _I know Mum's told you that Harry proposed, but she didn't actually say yes," Ron continued, leaning back slightly. "I told him to do it again last night when we got in. And now he's vanished and Ginny's looked wrecked the entire day – You don't think that's coincidence?"_

" _What are you suggesting?" Hermione asked edgily._

" _Well, she turned him down and he's off choking down a bottle of Firewhisky and slipping IOU notes in some strippers G-string," Ron smiled faintly._

" _That's not funny, Ron," Hermione scolded harshly._

" _I know. It's awful. I'm just trying to make light, y'know?" Ron sighed. Hermione let out the deep breath she'd been clinging to as well._

" _I know," Hermione said quietly._

" _I didn't want to ruin today. I just thought you'd want to know, even though this is our wedding day," Ron said quietly, reaching out to brush Hermione's cheek and turn her to him. "Sorry."_

" _It's OK," Hermione replied in a tense voice, forcing herself to smile._

" _Good," he grinned. "Because by my calculations, it's almost time for our first dance, Mrs Weasley."_

_Hermione swallowed discreetly and continued her self-imposed expression of bliss and joy. She nodded rapidly, unable to respond to her new moniker._

_Ron didn't seem to notice anything odd as he leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on her lips. After, he removed his hand from her and sat back, surveying the party._

" _So. Where do you think Ginny is anyway? Don't you need a bit of 'maiding' or anything?" Ron wondered aloud, scanning the tent. He wished it was as easy as looking for the red-headed female but there were so many of them._

" _No. I'm fine," Hermione shook her head, turning from him to delicately dab her eyes in an effort to not destroy her eye makeup._

_Ron was right – It was indeed time for the first dance as a married couple. As the Twins made their way to the front of the top table, Hermione clutched at the sides of her dress, her fingernails indenting the flesh beneath the silk material. She willed, urged, pleaded with herself to get it together. All she had to do was get up and dance and look blissfully happy. That was all. She could manage that little task, couldn't she?_

_Fred and George's announcement was succeeded by a din of applause which rang in her ears. Ron was already on his feet and offering his hand to her. She took it and was dumbly led to the designated dance floor by her husband. The quartet struck up the first few notes of their chosen song, which was a popular hit by the Tarantula Trio. It was Ron's favourite. He told Hermione that the summer between 6_ _th_ _and 7_ _th_ _year he'd played that song obsessively as it reminded him of her. He'd insisted on it being the first song that they danced to. Hermione agreed but she had been so nonchalant about the wedding planning process that it was hardly a victory._

_As Ron pulled her to his chest and started swaying in time to the music, the surrounding crowd clapped. This rock song actually sounded quite beautiful on the cello, Hermione thought as she attempted to get a grip on the rhythm. Her head rested on Ron's shoulder as they moved together. Hermione struggled to see the faces of the people watching as the white spotlight blinded her._

_The vision barely seen out of the corner of her eye caused her heart to hurdle through her ribcage. In the back, behind the faceless swarm, was Ginny. Behind Ginny was the best man, evidently gripping onto her shoulders. From a distance, Hermione couldn't tell if Charlie was forcing her to stay or attempting to pull her away. Through a flash of the lighting and the attending bodies, Ginny and Hermione stared at each other. Ginny had never seemed further away from her, Hermione thought. Even when she hadn't seen her for years, Hermione had always believed her to be in reaching distance. That should she have ever given in on their unspoken exile from each other, she could be with Ginny within moments. But there was no touching Ginny now. One -or both of them- had become untouchable. There was a very clear, very solid obstacle now; the ultimate hurdle, which could not be disregarded easily. The new accessory which fit on Hermione's finger was actually too big and she had to check that it was still there and had not fallen off already._

_The circle symbolises the infinite – it doesn't begin and it doesn't end: The bonding witch had said that the wedding band symbolised eternal love. Instead, Hermione thought how impossible it was to escape a circle. With no entry point and no corners to leverage oneself up any escape would be in vain._

_-_

It's becoming a beautiful night. I'm sitting on the steps of the Burrow: black travelling cloak over my dirty dress, bag between the knees, heart crushed underfoot and I can't help but be amazed at how beautiful the sky looks as the sun prepares for its daily descent.

Charlie made me promise to stay here until he got back. He has something to give me which will help, apparently. I don't know why I forced myself to watch their First Dance although I'm not sure that it made it all any worse. Usually when I feel like this I immerse myself in tasteless alcohol and find a companion for the night. Whether that helps is debateable, but I doubt anything would now. Not a friendly ear or a meaningful keepsake. I think that's fine though. This horrible, gnawing feeling eviscerating me seems overwhelming and unmanageable but somehow I believe I'll get through it. I have to. There is no other option.

Just as I'm talking myself out of Disapparating on the spot and leaving Charlie hanging, I see that woman in white stride out from the reception tent. My instincts are telling me to run, hide, flee. She's not coming for me though. She doesn't notice anything around her and she heads for her Bridal tent to disappear inside.

I have to go to her. I need this. I need one more moment to finish it all. Against the urging of my body, I stand up and head down to the tent. I pull the cloak around me tightly, feeling colder as I get closer to her. Hesitantly, I pull back the tent door and slip inside. I can't find her. I wonder if she was a mirage.

"What are you doing in here?" Her voice is tense and she's standing right behind me. Now is the time to be brave, now is the time to be a Gryffindor. It would be so easy to run, but I will not.

I turn to her slowly, not letting my body betray my purpose. I am as hard and unreadable as she is and we stand looking at each other properly for the first time as in-laws. Her cheeks are faintly blotchy, scarred by chilly winds and possible tears.

"Ginny – what do you want?" she asks impatiently, turning to the mirror and bringing up a cloth hanker-chief to dab her eyes with surgical precision.

"I don't want anything," I tell her clearly. "Absolutely nothing. I have no agenda for what I'm about to say."

She sniffs and places both hands on the sides of the mirror. Her head bows and she prepares herself to endure whatever bile I may throw at her.

"Hermione, could you turn to me?" I ask softly. "This is important and I want you to look at me."

She stares at my reflection behind her in the mirror, a flash of fury in her eyes. Then with a deep breath she turns to face me.

"I don't want you to say anything. I don't want you to do anything – except listen," I tell her carefully. She gives a curt nod and wraps her arms over her chest.

I know she's waiting for me but I don't want to utter a word just yet. I just want to drink this sight in because should everything work out like it's planned in my head then this will be the last time I'll see her. I don't want a picture or a portrait that I'd no doubt destroy in a fit of rage in the later months; I just want this memory to endure.

Her expression softens and her confrontational stance slackens as she watches me appreciate every last part of her and I think she senses that I mean this to be the last time. It's almost as if I can see the thought entering her mind. Her jaw drops slightly and panic lies behind those familiar brown eyes.

"I'm going, Hermione," I start, knowing that I won't have her silence forever. "I am leaving. Europe. That job. Like I told you. I hope I'm not coming back. It might not be a factor for you, but I definitely couldn't sit down to Christmas dinner with you and Ron after all this—"

"You think that—" she interrupts before I step forward and clamp a hand over her mouth. This, of course, brings us skin to skin and within breathing distance. Not the safest position in the world to assume at this moment. I'm working on delayed transmission from brain to hand and it takes a moment before I pull my hand back, as if burned.

"Sorry," I clear my throat, looking away. "But – listen?"

She nods again, not shuffling backwards but standing her ground.

"Last night changed everything for me. I can't look at you without tasting you," I whisper softly. I can't do this, I can't let myself reflect and allow her to consume me. I must be strong. I clear my throat and try again. "I'm sorry but it's the way it is. I've slept with people, I've had sex with people, I've fucked. But I have never felt what you made me feel last night. It's unforgettable and unavoidable. We've crossed a pretty stark line and I know I can't go back."

She bites her bottom lip as she takes in the truth of my words.

"I will never be your friend. I will never be just an old school pal. I will never be your sister-in-law," I lay out clearly. Her tears have started to fall and lip begins to tremble. "This will never change. I will never not feel delirious when I see you. I will never stop feeling decimated when I see you and my brother together.

"You might look on last night as your last fling, your last gasp of freedom. And that's OK," I tell her, trying to control the shaking in my voice as she holds a hand over her eyes, covering the freely cascading tears. "But to me it was the best night of my life. I have that and maybe that's enough."

"Ginny—" she cries, a bursting, aching sob singeing the air.

"Hermione, you don't have to say anything. I don't want you to say anything that'll make this more difficult or more agonising," I sigh sadly. Her shoulders hunch over as she lets everything go. Instinct desires that I hold her. With one sweeping motion I wrap my arms around her and she weeps on my shoulder, clinging to me tightly.

"You are so beautiful Hermione," I say into her ear in a hushed tone. "Merlin, you look so beautiful. That dress is making me feel ill but… You are divine."

She laughs painfully at the dress comment and pulls back from me. Her hands are still on my neck as mine are still in a hold around her waist. This is a very dangerous position but it's out with my control now.

"I love you," I whisper softly without hope or agenda. Her eyes start to water again. "I realise that's the first time I've said that to you. Which seems surreal and ridiculous considering how long I actually have been in love with you. And with the worst possible timing. But I do love you and I have no doubt that I will always love you. I'm just going to aim to make it hurt a little less every day until I can live with it."

She looks as if she wants to respond in kind but I shake my head mournfully, warning her not to.

I tuck a curl of hair gently behind her ear and smooth her cheek with the back of my hand. I want to remember every place, every time that I have touched her.

"This will be the last time," I whisper, my sore throat tightening. My lips find hers and I feel the stars bursting inside my head, making me delirious and dizzy while my heart pauses for the moment. This kiss is fuller than any I have ever known: full of regret and sadness; desire and emotion; tenderness and the slightest twinge of anger. It's too heavy and too epic to last forever.

All too soon this beautiful kiss is over as I force myself to retreat. She meets my stare with great difficulty, her thumb stroking my chin. Her tears have not ceased. I still taste them on my tongue.

"That was the last kiss," I remind her, extricating myself carefully and wiping my own tears. She hasn't made any move and stands there as if hexed just so.

"I'm leaving now," I repeat my original message. Still she does not move but she does not tear her gaze from me as I back further towards the exit. "I only want happiness for you, Hermione. Do that for me?"

She nods numbly and keeps herself static, staring at every inch of me. Perhaps she's making her own last memory. The last image.

This moment is too complicated and too full to add a farewell into the mix. A goodbye would make it worse somehow. So I just back out of the tent wordlessly, still gazing at her until the white curtain blocks my view.

I take a few moments to compose myself and then realise that I better get as far away from this tent as possible before she re-emerges. I'm about to break into a sprint back up to the house when I see Alicia Spinnet standing outside the Reception tent with Katie Bell and Oliver Wood. The couple are engaged in playful conversation but Alicia spots me. She leaves her friends without word and makes her way towards me.

"Ginny, how are you?" she asks, quick stepping to keep up with me.

"I'm… I'll be OK," I tell her, turning to smile faintly. "I'll be OK."

"You look as if someone's just…" she trails off, looking back down at the path behind me. "Were you just with Hermione?"

"Just saying goodbye," I reply with a deep breath, reaching the house steps where my bag still sits. Alicia looks down at my bag and then up at me.

"Going somewhere?" she asks tentatively as I pick it up and swing it over my shoulder.

"New job," I tell her with a small shrug. "Europe. Several years."

"This wouldn't be running away?" she asks, raising her eyebrow.

"Away – Towards – There isn't much difference," I laugh softly, wiping my eyes once more. "It's time for me to go. I need change. I need something big."

She studies the wreckage of me dubiously. "Well, I wish you luck."

"I'm due some," I utter under my breath, looking around. "You haven't seen Charlie, have you?"

"I think… I think he had to go and sort out the speeches," Alicia replies hesitantly, expecting that this information will cause me to combust. Instead I just nod slowly.

"He said he had something for me. Tell him I'm going to wander down to the stream, where we used to play, a few fields over. I won't be there for long," I instruct her. I won't be back here for a while so a visit to the spot I spent many hot, blissful, simple summer afternoons seems necessary. Water always calms me. I'll sit and stare at the stream for a while before travelling.

Alicia just nods, taking it all in.

"If you ever fancy a holiday then Owl me, find out where I've ended up," I grin at her. "Maybe I'll have a couch for you."

She nods, smiling herself and watches me as I start my journey away from the wedding, the burrow and this whole painful situation.

-

_After Ginny had left, Hermione could not move. She stood – not crying, not speaking, not stirring – in the middle of her tent. Her skin was clammy as the warmth of the sun slowly faded and her hands felt increasingly sweaty. Without warning, her wedding band slipped off her finger and dropped soundlessly to the ground. She didn't know how long it was since Ginny left or how long she had been away from the Reception but it was significantly long enough for her father to come looking for her._

" _Hermione?" he called out, pulling back the curtained door._

" _D-Dad?" she uttered, shaking herself out of her near catatonia and turning away from him. She picked up the hanker-chief she'd been using earlier and set to work on making herself look like this was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. She groped for the makeup box as he appeared behind her. He looked at her reflection and placed his hand on her shoulders._

" _Are you OK? What happened?" he asked in a low voice._

" _Oh, you know," Hermione replied, flustered. "Emotional day. Just needed a minute."_

" _Well they're about to start the speeches," her Dad informed her. "We can't find Ginny – Isn't the maid of honour supposed to say something?"_

' _She's said plenty,' Hermione thought, barely restraining herself from speaking it aloud._

" _No, no, Dad," Hermione shook her head as she applied powder to try to even out her colour. "She's not making a speech."_

" _Where is she?" he asked, looking around the tent. "Shouldn't she be here to do whatever it is you're doing?"_

" _She left," Hermione replied shortly._

" _Left? Left where?" he asked, taken aback. "Does anyone know?"_

" _I don't know," Hermione shrugged, trying not to think about it. She didn't want to think of Ginny leaving her life forever at this very moment in time. That would cause her to break down again and she couldn't spend the rest of the night curled up in a corner of the tent, crying her broken heart out. Even though that did sound like a more favourable option at the moment._

" _She left in the middle of your reception?" Gerald said incredulously. "Why? Did you have an argument? Or… Or…"_

" _She has a new job, remember?" Hermione said quietly. "She's left-left."_

" _But her parents don't even know!"_

" _She'll send them a postcard," Hermione said under her breath as she reapplied her eye makeup._

" _Well it's really inconsiderate," Gerald commented._

_Hermione opened her mouth to respond but there was nothing she wanted to say._

" _Ready to go back?" he asked, looking at his daughters ready reflection. She nodded wordlessly and he sensed she was holding in a deep sigh of defeat. He had no idea what could be making his daughter so desperately sad, but his imagination had began constructing a few far fetched ideas._

_Hermione brushed her hair, stood straight and nodded to the mirror. 'Just get through this day and it'll all be over.'_

" _Right, Dad, can't keep everyone waiting," she told him clearly, picking up the front of her dress._

_The glinting circle of gold caught Gerald's eye as he followed in her wake._

" _Hermione? Lose something?" he called after her, staring at the object._

" _Like what? My marbles? My mind?" Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes._

" _Your ring?" he replied quietly. She spun around at once and looked at him the way she might have when she was a child; caught with something that she shouldn't have or found doing something she shouldn't have done. This was purely imagination and conjecture, because Gerald believed that he had never discovered Hermione in such a position. She was either extremely skilled in hiding her illicit dealings at home, or she had none._

_Hermione's face flushed as she stooped to pick up her wedding band. She held it between thumb and finger for a long time, staring at the oversized ring._

" _It's too big," she mumbled. "It's a magical compound of gold. It's enchanted. Witches and wizards enchant their rings, you see," Hermione explained, looking up at her father from her crouched position. "There are thieving hexes, bonding charms, location charms all embedded in this ring. If I'd have moved twenty feet from it, it would've called me back. A magical ring is not easy to lose."_

" _Or throw away?" her father asked hesitantly. Hermione stood up at once and slid the ring easily on her finger. She held her hand in front of Gerald's face, shaking it to demonstrate how loose this new piece of jewellery was._

" _See? Too big," Hermione said defensively, turning and heading for the reception. After a sigh, Gerald followed suit._

_-_

_The spotlight was on an uncharacteristically flustered Charlie as he made his Best Man's toast to the wedding party and congregation. Beside Hermione, Ron was laughing and slapping the table at what she guessed were the appropriate moments. The rest of the reception were laughing along as well, seemingly enjoying it. Hermione couldn't listen; she couldn't concentrate for the life of her on anything as she slid her ill-fitting ring up and down her finger. The faces in front of her blurred together again and she felt a tight squeeze on her thigh from her husband as he stood up._

_It seemed that Charlie's speech was over now and he had handed the floor to his brother. Ron cast sonorous on his throat and gave the crowd a wide grin._

" _Thank you everyone for coming today," he started, beaming round at the room. "This has been undoubtedly the best day of my life and the start of many more fantastic days to come. Every day with Hermione has been beyond magic – Fighting as teenagers, living together as adults and now growing old together. This is what I always wanted."_

_Hermione continued to look up at him as he spoke sincerely and earnestly about their wedding and ensuing marriage. Everything in him was tingling with excitement that this day was finally here. Every time he looked down to grin at her, she felt another throb of pain and guilt. Everything caged was seeping out. Looking up at him framed in the light she noticed that his red hair so much paler than Ginny's. Hermione couldn't stop the barrage of images of his younger sister from plaguing her thoughts. Her heart quickened and her breath grew short as she closed her eyes briefly and relived her last few moments with Ginny. That was it – Ginny was done, she was gone. And here Hermione sat at the right hand of her Groom._

_Earlier, Hermione had been too relieved that she had made it through the wedding to notice what kissing her husband for the first time actually felt like. She could vividly experience every kiss with Ginny, if she let her mind go there._

_She watched Ron, laughing and joking with the people who had put on their best robes to see this young couple wed and a moment of clarity – an epiphany hit her. Those moments with Ginny – the ones where she teetered so close on the precipice of living or dying – were gone. Her life would be the mediocrity she'd talked herself into wanting. Every morning she would wake up numb and sleepwalk through life until she expired or awoke. Never again would she see streaking stars as she kissed the true love of her life._

_With Ron, with anyone who wasn't Ginny, everything was muted and half as potent as something with Ginny: Anger burned brighter, sadness wallowed deeper, contentment floated into nirvana, laughter charged life and love was almost too supreme to comprehend._

_Ron would never kill her and revive her with a single kiss. He could never make her skin dance by holding her hand. And a whispered word in her ear from him would never decimate her nervous system._

_Didn't she want safe? Didn't she want predictable? Wasn't his solid affection the reason why she had convinced herself that this was the right choice?_

_Hermione's own written words floated before her eyes - 'If this is the way it's supposed to be, then why do I feel like this?'_

_They were as true now as they ever were._

_Ron exuded happiness. It oozed from his every pore. Was he settling like she was? Was he playing to destiny? When he kissed her did he get the same bloody, awe-inspiring, knee trembling gut reaction that Hermione got from his sister?_

_Hermione couldn't decide which was worse and in that moment of pity she realised that though she may appear to be Ron's One, he would never be hers. Hermione's One was readying herself to sip sangria and eat baguettes for the next few years – possibly for the rest of her life. Though not a romantic by nature, Hermione knew through and through that in this life you only got One._

_Every time she thought of Ginny, the red head seemed achingly further away. She was slipping away quickly, not waiting any longer. Ginny's absence threatened to bring her to tears again but something deeper was mounting inside Hermione._

"… _And now I'd like to let my beautiful wife say a few words. As I'm sure any of you who know her believe she's capable of more than just a few," Ron chuckled, touching his wand tip to Hermione's throat and muttering the spell._

" _No," Hermione said immediately, awakening from her self-imposed trance. Her voice echoed so loudly she was sure that she had just spoken._

_Ron laughed and looked at Hermione bizarrely._

" _You don't want to say anything now?" he asked her jovially, theatrically rolling his eyes at the crowd. "If I could be so lucky for the rest of our marriage!"_

" _Ron. No. I'm sorry," Hermione said firmly, standing up._

_Ron's smile faltered. He knew that something was not right._

" _W-What is it?" he asked quietly as Hermione took his wand and cast 'Quietus' on them both. Murmurs quickly filled the silent vacuum from both the congregation and the family on either side of the table._

" _We need to go outside, Ron," Hermione told him clearly, her heart now thundering louder than any sound in the tent._

" _Outside? Why?" he asked, furrowing his brow. His mouth went dry. He was absolutely sure this wasn't part of the plan. Had he done something? Has something happened he didn't know about? The family or his speech—Had something not went perfectly? Was he so oblivious he could have missed what had upset his new wife? All of Ron's ever-present fears about being an incompetent husband came bubbling to the surface._

" _Ron, please, outside," Hermione said briskly, trying to not look at the prying eyes of the crowd._

" _Hermione, I don't want to go outside," Ron mumbled, becoming paler. He was sure no good would come of going outside. Surely she wouldn't yell at him in front of all their family and friends. It was best to stay here. Was it about the slightly risqué drunk groping story he told during his toast? "Whatever it is we can talk about it here."_

" _I'm serious, Ron. I won't do it here—" Hermione started warningly in as hushed a voice as she could muster._

" _What won't you do? Is it something bad? Something good? Are you pregn—" Ron spluttered, also trying to keep his voice low. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Fred and George were trying to redirect attention onto them by doing a stand up skit of some sort._

" _No, of course I'm not! This is completely the wrong place—"_

" _It's also completely the wrong time—"_

" _And then the dragon walks up to the barkeep," Fred shouted over the arguing newly weds as George waved his arms, acting out the joke to attract the attention of the room._

" _Ron, I know—"_

" _Hermione, you're really starting to worry me here! I know this is stressful but the hard part's over now—"_

" _Ron – This is becoming an embarrassment! Will you bloody shut up and get outside!" Hermione hissed violently._

" _Then the Dragon says 'Well at ten galleons a Butterbeer, I'm not surprised!'" George called out as he finished with a flourish. There was a titter of polite laughter as it was clear everyone was still watching the main attraction which was quickly turning this beautiful wedding into a farce._

" _Is it about Harry? Is Harry OK? Did something happen—" Ron guessed fearfully._

" _No!" Hermione bellowed breathlessly. Over Ron's shoulder she could see the parents readying themselves to intervene. The resolve that had been building within her hardened as she closed her eyes briefly. The only image in her mind was the reason._

" _Then if it's not about life or death can't it wait?!" Ron hissed impatiently. "This is our wed-"_

" _Ron, it's over, I'm sorry," Hermione said loudly enough for the entire party. Everyone froze, stunned and strained to hear what they assumed would be an immediate retraction of this statement from Hermione._

_Ron gawped at his wife, not sure that he had heard the right thing either._

_She sighed, shook her head and looked at him sadly. "Are you coming outside now?"_

_Wordlessly, Ron stepped away from the table and strode out the back flap of the tent. Hermione followed him, her hands now sweating profusely. Behind her the gossip and discussion was deafening._

_Once outside, both bathed in the pink glow of the nearly setting sun, they turned to each other. Hermione felt light headed and wanted something sturdy to lean on. She felt wretched and elated. Her heartbeat was less audible now but her breathing was no less shallow._

_Ron paced and attempted to form several words. He looked to have given up on language all together and held out his arms in a baffled manner._

" _Ron—" she started with a deep breath._

" _What the fuck, Hermione?" he tore in, apparently regaining use of his voice. "Really? What the fucking fuck?"_

" _I'm sorry," she exhaled. "Sorry. So, so sorry."_

" _So fucking sorry," Ron repeated incredulously. "Wonderful. You're so fucking sorry. How could you say that to me on our wedding day? Cruel, horrible, cruel joke. Trying to get my attention? What could be so important that you have to talk to me about that you'd use that? What you think our parents are thinking right now? Huh?"_

_Hermione's jaw now dropped. He thought it was a joke – a clever ploy to get his attention._

" _Well? What's so fucking important, then?" Ron raged, rubbing his forehead. "What's so important that you scare me half to death like that? On_ _ **today**_ _of all days?"_

_Hermione couldn't muster up the words to respond. She'd done it – she'd said it. In there, at their reception, in front of all those people. And now she had to_ _**convince** _ _him?_

_Ron crouched down, holding his head and tried to regulate his breathing. The shock was almost too much for him to withstand._

_She watched him try to pull himself back together and she felt as if she had been torn to pieces. For a moment she forgot about Ginny and what she wanted. Was it too late now? Was this it? Would she destroy him if she did this here and now?_

_She almost reached out to touch and comfort him but something deep inside stopped her. Courage swelled within her. She would not be a coward. She would not resign them both to a life they did not deserve. She deserved to be happy, she deserved to be honest. She deserved to be courageous and fight for what she needed to avoid a life of placid mediocrity. She deserved to be lit on fire and driven crazy with desire. He deserved someone who felt that way about him._

_It was late, yes, but better than not at all._

" _Ron," she said calmly as he looked up at her for this explanation. "I wasn't joking."_

" _W-What?" he stuttered, looking up at her._

" _I'm sorry, I really love you, Ron. And I really didn't want to lose you. That's why I've kept this up for so bloody long. I was so afraid I'd lose you. If I lost you then I'd lose everything and be completely alone," Hermione said shakily._

" _I'm missing something – are you leaving me?" Ron spluttered, pushing himself up to standing._

" _I am," Hermione swallowed, trying not to break down._

" _Actually leaving me? How can you be leaving me?" Ron asked, his voice escalating._

" _I'm so sorry Ron," she repeated._

" _It's our fucking wedding day!" he yelled, completely horrified. "We just got married! You just promised to be with me forever so how can you leave me on our wedding day?"_

_Hermione was sure that the entire tent could hear their conversation now. Even without spells or extendable ears, Ron was loud enough._

" _Hermione – Why?" Ron asked, eyes wide and wild. "We're happy! We've been happy for so long and this is what happy people do. They get married. We have a house! We were going to have kids in a few years, remember? We planned our lives, Hermione! When did this happen?"_

" _I know it doesn't seem like it," Hermione swallowed sorely. "Because this is the most terrible timing ever, but this way is far kinder to both of us than continuing on like this."_

" _Fuck your platitudes, Hermione!" Ron said incredulously. "How dare you? How could you?"_

" _I'm sorry," Hermione said quickly._

" _I don't need you to say you're sorry," Ron whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to clear his head._

" _Ron—"_

" _I don't understand," Ron pleaded, grasping hold of her limp hands. "Make me understand. This is a nightmare, I know it is. This doesn't make any sense."_

" _Ron," Hermione started before taking a deep breath as she looked in his eyes. "I'm not in love with you. I love you, I'll always love you – but I'm not in love with you. I can't be."_

" _Is-Is there someone else?" Ron asked with great difficulty, furiously wiping his eyes. "Have you been… Is there someone else?"_

" _I am in love with someone else," Hermione admitted quietly, not looking at him. He immediately pulled his hands out of hers with a look of disgust and staggered back._

" _I can't believe it," he whispered to the air around him. "I can't."_

" _I'm so sorry," Hermione repeated, sliding off her wedding band and her engagement ring. Ron stood with his back to her, arms folded and head bowed. She wasn't sure if he was crying or about to burst into a tirade._

_There was nothing more to say. She couldn't make this any better and could probably make it worse. Now was the time to leave._

" _I'm just leaving these here," she said quietly, bending down to place the rings in front of her. His back was still turned but she knew that somehow he would find them._

_With one last look at her husband and childhood best friend's hunched frame, Hermione turned and pushed back through into the tent._

_All eyes were on her, as it should be on her special day. But this was for a very different reason than other Brides. Everyone was congregated together in clumps, apparently all rabidly discussing what had just happened. Now there was only silence. Hermione thought about making an announcement of some sort, to save Ron the burden. However, as she had re-entered alone and the reception had obviously heard their argument it seemed unnecessary._

_Instead she faintly smiled at the crowd and looked for her safest path to the exit. As she attempted to dart past her parents, her mother caught hold of her arm._

" _What happened there?" Alison demanded, aghast at this unconventional turn of events._

" _Are you all right? What happened?" her Dad asked at the same time._

" _Ron... Ron and I are over," Hermione said in one breath. "And I can't explain right now because… because I need to run after the woman I'm desperately in love with."_

_Hermione's mother looked as if she had simply failed to hear her daughter correctly, but could not part her lips to bark questions at her. A faint glimmer of realisation sparked behind Gerald's eyes as the pieces started to fall into place._

_As neither had an immediate response to that news, Hermione gave them a quick relieved nod, a tight smile and continued on her way before they recovered._

_It seemed like every person she passed fired questions at her about what happened and why. The best she could do was to duck them and block out the ensuing gossip._

_Hermione slinked outside and finally smelled the fresh air that accompanied freedom. She was going to head up to the house in the vain hope that perhaps Ginny was still in her room packing. Hermione prayed to no higher power in particular that she hadn't left yet._

_Before she made it there she felt a hand on her arm. She whirled around and was faced with the sympathetic figure of Alicia Spinnet who had seemingly followed her outside._

" _Alicia, I'm really sorry but I have to—" Hermione started impatiently, her gaze travelling up to the empty Burrow._

" _That was… something, Hermione. I never knew you felt for Ginny what she feels for you," Alicia said softly. "I hope you're not too late."_

_Hermione was taken aback by the kindness in her former Housemates voice but worried by her last sentiment._

" _Me too," Hermione barely managed to choke out, averting her eyes._

" _To be honest, I thought you were stringing her along. But everyone knows now… And your timing's terrible," Alicia finished with a smile._

_Hermione couldn't help but laugh abruptly. "Isn't it?" she replied as she shook her head and grimaced._

" _How do you feel?"_

" _Wonderful," Hermione realised slowly, cocking her head to the side. "Terrible, awful, heinous… but wonderful. I've reached the bottom of the rabbit hole and it's not frightening – it's incredible."_

_Alicia just smiled bizarrely at her, having no idea what that meant._

" _The reason I came after you wasn't to get the gossip - I assume you're going after Ginny?" Alicia asked. Hermione just inclined her head slightly. "Well, you won't find her up there. She went the other way around, across the fields and towards the river. She said she was going to a place she used to play as a child. Do you know it?"_

_Hermione nodded. She knew it. She smiled gratefully and without another word she rounded the reception tent at speed. She was still vaguely aware of the loud conversation taking place in her inauspicious absence. She wondered if Ron had went back inside yet. She wondered if Molly and Arthur knew. She wondered if her parents had shared the tidbit of information regarding the gender of her actual love._

_She pushed these questions out of her mind and ran in the direction Alicia had pointed her towards, leaving the reception, her marriage and her husband in her wake. She hiked up her dress awkwardly and tried to sprint as well as she was able. She cursed herself for not bringing her wand. It was in Ginny's bedroom of all places. There wasn't actually much room for a wand in a boned corset wedding dress and slipping it in her garter seemed rather tacky, her mother had told her._

_Still. Nothing productive would come of cursing what she did not have. What she did have was an eager heart and sharp eyes. She would find Ginny, she just_ _**had** _ _to after what she had just done. She couldn't be gone yet, could she?_

_Hermione remembered Ginny in the bridal tent, so void of hope. Hermione chose to believe that there was still a shred lingering after that would cause Ginny to wait just a little longer._

_And if she had already Disapparated and grabbed the next Portkey to mainland Europe, then Hermione would find her._

_As Hermione reached the top of the hill she could see the countryside for miles around. She saw where the fields were intercepted by a running stream – the stream that Alicia had talked about. Frantically, her gaze raked the scene for Ginny. She would find her. She would._

_Hermione's mouth curved into a triumphant smile._

_She had found her._

-

I blink as a single figure invades my vision of the setting sun. That woman in the white dress. And she's tearing down the hill, heading straight for me.

"Ginny! Ginny! Stop, wait! I'm coming!" Hermione calls as she runs at a staggered pace down the steep hill. The speed at which she is hurtling down could cause her to fall at any moment. I won't be there to catch her. And I don't know what new torture she has envisioned for me now, coming after me like this.

I want to turn away and run. Even more efficiently, I could half turn and Disapparate and be hundreds of miles away from her before she has the chance to reach me.

I'm too slow; cursed by curiosity and the desire for just that little extra inch of hurt. More than anything, the option of being in her presence again is too much to resist. As she closes the distance, I see her face is shining. Something is desperately different.

She doesn't waste any time after she grinds to a halt in front of me. She leaves no time for my sharp inhalation and a gruff dismissal.

"I'm coming with you," she blurts out, breathless and almost manic.

"W-What?" I stagger. That was the last statement I expected from her and my comprehension skills are so poor in the wake of that declaration that I can barely understand what exactly she's getting at.

"Coming with you," she repeats in a steadier voice.

"Hermione… I don't… Your life is here. You can't come with me," I tell her, exasperated and flabbergasted. I'm still not understanding what she's trying to say to me. Coming with me? What the Hell does she mean by that?

"My job is here. My family's here. All my stuff is here. But that's not my life. My life is _here,_ " she implores me, placing a gentle hand over my chest. The sudden contact of her warm fingertips on my cool flesh releases a wave of shivers.

"Don't be a complete fucking idiot," I mumble, pushing her hand away. "You're going on your honeymoon. Your reception's still—"

"No, Ginny, don't you be a complete fucking idiot!" she laughs softly. "Don't you get it? I've just walked out on my reception. And my honeymoon? I think it's off. I just told Ron that I'm leaving him, I told my parents that it's over – I think the whole party heard."

"W-What? You what?" I stammer, eyes wide and not able to fully process this information.

"I left him," she says simply, not taking her eyes from mine. "I told him I'm in love with someone else. I told him it's over."

"No," I blurt out. I can't work out if this is reality or a hallucination. "No, this isn't… Tomorrow you'll just… Tomorrow you'll go back…"

"No, I won't," she breathes out calmly, taking my hands in hers. "You are my tomorrow. I want you - I need you to be my tomorrow. That's what nearly killed me as I sat there listening to everyone toast the newlyweds and wish us a happy life together. And I thought about tomorrow. I'd wake up in Bermuda, half a world and a whole life away from you. And when I got back, I wouldn't see you because you'd be gone. I wouldn't see you tomorrow, or probably any day after that for a long, long time. I need you in all my tomorrows, Ginny."

"You're serious…" I establish slowly, her beautiful words overwhelming me.

"Of course I'm serious!" she grins. Her patience is not waning. "I'm sorry it took me such a long time to get here. I'm sorry I didn't understand days, months, years ago. I'm sorry I denied myself from loving you for so long and wasted all this time. I know we've both went through a lot to get to this point. But this _is_ the point, Ginny. Us. Here. Now. We made it and I don't waste to waste another moment," she finishes breathlessly, taking my hand with a slight hesitation, entwining her fingers through mine and bringing it up to her mouth for a kiss.

I cannot stop the surge of elation that manifests as a ridiculously goofy grin. I think I get it now. She grins similarly back at me, clutching my hand to her chest.

"Well?" I smirk, barely unable to stop myself from bursting into fits of joyful laughter. "What are you wasting time trying to convince me for?"

Her lips purse playfully as she shakes her head in faux menace as if warning me that I shall be chastised for my impudence. That would be fine with me.

Instead of the haughty lecture I've become so used to, she grins as she slips a hand in my hair, to the back of my neck and swiftly pulls me to her for a sweet, painless kiss. Inside, my deep, dark wells of suffering and loneliness become unbridled fountains of joy and hope. My liberation from the constant oppression of love is more euphoric than I ever could have imagined.

No more struggle, no more desperation – This is it. This is what I've been waiting for. All those hurtful, horrible events that have caused me to hate myself as I betrayed those I love; All those empty nights searching for someone who simply wasn't there; All those lies that I've told to shield myself from the world; All the long hours of yearning and weeping: All this and more has lead to this one moment in time. It's not over, it's just beginning and I couldn't fathom feeling more magnificent.

I can't stop feeling her, kissing her and it appears she's feeling a similar lack of restraint. Oh, to never be parted again. At this rate, I don't think it'll ever be physically possible. She offers gentle promises of love and tomorrows for me to have and to hold.

She sighs blissful words of love and adoration into my mouth, which I full-heartedly return. Our lips meet again because there is nothing more wonderful that we could be doing right now.

This is how I think every love story spread across years and littered with broken hearts should end: With a passionate kiss and a heartfelt promise of forever in front of the dying sun.


End file.
